


Unholy War

by HiddenEye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon Compliant, Five Stages of Grief, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: “What do you want, Bucky?” Steve suddenly asks, and his words are as clear as a cracking whip in thin air.Bucky wouldn’t want to play dumb on Steve, not when it comes tothis. It’s a miracle Steve is even considering this, whateverthisis, between them.(FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF)





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Love making new things when I haven’t finished my old ones. My other stucky fic can wait for me but kinktober will not.
> 
> I’m gonna write this fic based on whatever day I’m gonna pick because I’m busy like that. Tags will be added with each chapter I update due to the kinks.
> 
> 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟔 — 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐣𝐨𝐛

“It’s a matter of preferences.”

Steve stares at Bucky for exactly five seconds from where he’s slouched on their couch, a blanket wrapped himself. He then flickers his gaze at the two shirts Bucky holds up —one a light blue and the other his normal cream— before snapping back to his face, squinting a little. “Preferences on how much you’re willing to spurge, you mean. Where’re you taking her?”

“At that newly opened diner two blocks from my work place. Crabby Manny? Heard it’s good.”

That got Steve’s eyebrows to shoot up. “Ain’t that where they sell a burger for a dollar and fifty?”

“So I heard,” Bucky shrugs, taking another look at his shirts when he twists the fronts to his way. “It’s high dining or something ‘cause they put deep fried crab meat as the patty.”

“That’s not a burger,” The lamplight perched behind Steve’s shoulder flashes onto the smooth sleeve of the pencil in his hand as he burrows deeper into his little cocoon, sketchbook still propped against his lap; he looks like he’s a king in his comfort place, sprawled lazily like that. Bucky’s tempted to join in. “That’s a fuckin’ crime, s’what it is. A dollar fifty for a burger cause they put seafood in it? Not including fries and milkshakes?”

“Not everyone’s picky like you, Stevie.” Bucky looks up again to see Steve rolling his eyes as he continues on his work. “That for the bakery advertisement you mentioned?”

“Yeah. Mrs. O'Malley's adding a new flavour to her shop, and it’s some sort of strawberry cheesecake? Said it’d be better if I make it as lewd as possible.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to arch his eyebrows. “_Lewd? _ On _ food?_”

“Uh-huh.” Steve turns his sketchbook around, and the draft’s still unfinished when all he’s done is the outline, but Bucky can imagine what that old woman means. “You can’t see it yet, but honest to god Buck, her exact words had been ‘sloppy, drippy, and tantalisingly messy that everyone would wanna lick it off someone’s fingers when they finish ‘em off.’”

Bucky snorts out a bout of laughter that Steve frantically waggers his finger at him, grinning wide, trying and failing to defend his client as he stammers out, “No, no Bucky. Lemme tell you, I was holdin’ my breath so hard ‘cause if I did whatever your ugly mug is doin’, my asthma would come back and she’d kicked me out for insulting her by half-dyin’ on the floor when _ I _ was the one who offered my services to _ her_. And if she did that, I wouldn’t get paid, we wouldn’t have any money, and I wouldn’t be able to draw a sloppy, _ sloppy _ cake for Mrs. O’Malley when she’s tryna make business poppin’, Buck. So you gotta stop _ laughing_, you _ gotta._”

It’s hopeless, really, because Bucky’s already bent halfway to his waist as he clutches his chest with his hand, shirts probably wrinkled up from where they’re trapped in his hold and how he’s half-dying himself.

He sucks in a huge breath in hopes to compose himself. Steve pokes his knee roughly with his bare foot that Bucky almost stumbles. That sets him off again.

“You’re a riot,” Steve wheezes out, pulling his legs to himself when Bucky drops on the couch, shirts thrown on the rickety coffee table. “You have a date in half an hour and you’re not ready yet, but you’re here laughing like a chimpanzee bouncin’ on a trampoline.”

“Hey, I’m not gonna be the one drawing a cake someone’s gonna jerk over,” Bucky chokes out, swiping the side of his face with a hand.

“It’s _ art_,” Steve shows him the sketch again, his bright blue eyes round with feign innocence. “What’s more appreciated than the raw feeling of complete ecstasy when someone sees this cake and just salivates for a taste, huh?”

Bucky almost chokes again, the grin still wide under his hand. “What the _ fuck_, Steve.”

“Just a lick of this _ oozing _ strawberry sauce and you’re in the fucking clouds, buddy.” Steve lets out a _tsk_, looking at his sketch like some snob tasting some old ass wine from the cellar; the similarity has Bucky in stitches. “What’s more beautiful than eating this delicious cake? Well, eating it with the love of your life.”

Steve flips the page, and Bucky almost suffers a cramp in his abdomen when he wheezes out through his fingers.

It’s a spectacular drawing; Steve always did have an eye for the type of detail he’s able to catch, and from what Bucky is looking at right now, he can imagine how Steve would sit at some corner of a park or shop somewhere and stalk some poor couple going on with their business and sucking each other’s faces off while he draws them.

There’s cake smeared on the man’s chin, indicating that he’s the sloppy eater of the pair, a true man’s way of life and all that in the public’s eye. He’s good looking with his square jaw, swept dark hair, and long lashes. He has his eyes widen in utter surprise.

The woman is beautiful in the hour glass of her figure while half of her hair is pinned up, most of those locks cascading down her back. She’s licking the strawberry sauce off the man’s chin, the glint in her eye obvious. Both of their forks are covered with the smear of an eaten cheesecake, messily handled from where some of it are on the table.

It _ does _ have that kind of appeal; it’s sloppy and attractive and it makes Bucky look at it a little more carefully than he probably should. He studies the way her tongue is curling just at the edge of the man’s flushed bottom lip, teasing and light, as she leans into the man’s space.

It reminds him of the way _ he _ does it around someone else’s cock in one of the restroom stalls of the club he’s been going; it’s having his best friend’s name hummed at the back of his throat, has Bucky swallow a strangers come, and has him readjusting his hold and imagines these thighs to be slimmer. Familiar.

Has him gurgling tap water after the stranger’s gone. Has him leaving it behind with his gut heavy and his jaw tight.

“She’s paying me a lot for this one,” The sound of Steve’s voice breaks him out of his reverie as he snaps his attention back to him. Bucky feels his stomach swoop at the curiosity in his look, and leans back against the arm rest to feign ease while he hopes Steve doesn’t hear his treacherous heart. “Said how it’s probably a little improper for a bakery, but I think she’s just being creative.”

Bucky reaches over for his blue shirt, one corner of his smile still hooked to the side. “It’s good, Stevie. Both of them are.” He stands up, making his way to the bedroom. “What’s the commission like?”

Steve clears his throat as the sound of the turning page echoes back. “‘Bout three hundred eighty dollars for both.”

Bucky snaps his head out like some damn ostrich and chucks his dirty shirt to the side. “You’re shitting with me.”

Steve turns to look at him as he slings his arm over the back of the couch. He holds up three fingers with complete seriousness. “Scout’s honour.”

“You were never a boy scout,” Bucky scoffs, buttoning his blue shirt up as he steps into the bathroom. He picks up his comb and runs it through his hair. “_Three hundred eighty dollars? _ Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding.”

“_Yeah_, Buck, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” When Bucky looks into his reflection, he sees Steve leaning against the doorframe. He doesn’t have his blanket with him from where he crosses his arms. “It’s _ a lot _ because she’s willing to pay me for the nasty.”

“Anyone’s willing to pay anyone for the nasty.”

“Which I’m thankful for or I wouldn’t have some dough on us for savings.” Steve reaches forward and tugs on the back of his crooked collar. 

Bucky tries not to stiffen under the brush of his knuckles against his nape, even if he feels like air has been sucked right of his mouth. He swallows thickly, putting his comb back into the cabinet before turning around to give Steve a smile. “How do I look?”

“Dashing, Narcissus,” Steve quips, but his eyes are soft and he has one corner of his mouth hooked up that Bucky loves so much but would never admit on his life. It shouldn’t make him so spineless but here he is; absolutely gone for this man. “Gonna come home tonight?”

“Maybe,” Bucky replies, and he wants to run his hand down the slope of his shoulders. He bites the inside of his bottom lip discreetly. “Should be.”

“Just be careful,” Steve reminds him, worry evident in the way his voice lowers.

Bucky swallows dryly and nods, patting his forearm as he slips by. He grabs his coat from its hook to rub the tingling feeling away from his palm. “Don’t worry, Stevie, I’ll holler if you’re too busy snoring up a storm to hear me.”

“That’s rich when the noises you make caused an earthquake at the other side of the world.” Steve follows him to the door as Bucky unlocks it. “Could’ve sworn you woke up the dogs that they became a yappin’ mess on the road.”

“Pretty sure that’s you.” Bucky tosses him a grin and a small salute, hand wrapped around the doorknob. “See ya.”

Steve smirks. “Have fun.”

* * *

They do have fun, Bucky and Dot. They go with each other whenever the days got dull and sometimes other partners are already occupied with other things, and it’s all fun and games, really. They haven’t got any strings attached and they like to keep it that for as long they like to keep it up.

The sex is fun too, but what keeps Bucky toes buzzing sometimes is how they play this little game of cat and mouse that all the flirting that’s been exchanged between them is admired, for the lack of better word. They kiss and touch and when it’s time to go, it’s time to go.

So, when Bucky brings her to dance with three pints of beer running in his system, he enjoys it. She does too; they’re laughing and switching partners and then they’re switching back, dancing until their feet get tired and their breaths get a little short, faces high with flushes and wide grins.

He forgets for a while; he forgets what he really wants and as it slithers down the back of the cold, dark corner of his mind on its own.

He kisses Dot at her doorstep with his hands on her hips while she messes up his hair even more. She breaks it off, laughing as she drops her arms around his shoulders. “Well,” she begins, breath puffing out into the night. “That was fun.”

She might’ve been as buzzed as he is, from how she sways in his hold, and he would’ve been fond of her in a different lifetime. “It was.”

“Think there’s ever a next time?”

“If you ever wanna, Dot.”

She smiles. “My answer’s the same. And I’m fine if you ever don’t wanna, though. Ever again, really.”

The fall’s chill seems to penetrate through the hazy bubble wrapped around them, leaving him feel a touch of frozen breeze against his cheek, cold and exposed. “What do you mean, doll?”

“Oh, y’know,” she shrugs, and it doesn’t make the rabbit hops in his chest settle. “Sometimes I think you weren’t really into it whenever we go out and I don’t wanna force you, y’know? We’re just doing this for fun, Bucky. No harm in saying no once in a while.”

He knows he’s still drunk, his brain’s too murky to completely understand the words she’s saying, but somewhere deep in his essence is screaming at him to get a grip — to listen to her words and correct his actions before he’s _ caught_. Before he’s _ known_.

He can’t have that. He _ can’t _ have that.

He gives her a smile, though he hopes she doesn’t notice how wobbly and forced it feels on his own lips. “Yeah, Dot. I’ll tell you if anything ever changes, alright?”

“You’re too much of a gentleman to just drop a girl, Bucky.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek for this — it’s a good night kiss as much as it is a friend saying goodbye, and then she slips out of his embrace and takes out her keys. Before she goes in, she gives him another last smile. “Take care.”

“You too, Dot.”

He waits until she locks the door again, until he’s alone and the only sounds he hears are his own breaths and the faint hum of the city still alive around him. 

When he walks, he walks with his hands buried deep in his pockets, letting the chilly air sting his nostrils as he breathes and _ breathes _ to smooth down the buzzing at the back of his head.

It sticks with him, those words. The weight of them settles uncomfortably on the edges of his bones, strands of them dangling like paste refusing to let go before they resort to swinging and colliding into him directly. Bucky has to look over his shoulder when they crowd insistently in his mind, even when all he sees is the empty road.

Unlocking the front door proves to him that he’s still far too drunk despite his somber heart, because somewhere between climbing up the stairs and taking out his key, he’s been scuffing around his own thoughts too much until the door creaks open under his hand. He steps in, hangs his coat, and then startles when Steve pushes himself up from the sofa.

Steve squints at him through the glare of the lamplight. “You’re back,” he says, voice croaky from his sleep, and it makes Bucky’s heart jump.

“You’re working late again, pal?” Bucky’s thankful his drinking abilities don’t show in his tone as he fetches a glass of water for himself. He’s able to hear Steve shuffling around as he gulps down the whole glass in one inhale.

“Yeah, I was trying to finish off one piece but fell asleep halfway. Thankfully, I managed to put away the brush before I ruined the thing.” 

When Bucky walks out of the kitchen, he has to remind himself that seeing his best friend ruffled from his nap while he’s wrapped in his blanket isn’t an invitation to kiss him. Even if the shine of the lamp makes it look as if Steve has a halo on top of his head, golden light spilling down the length of his nape and across his bare arms.

It makes his throat tight whenever Bucky finds himself wanting this, because by then, he’d have to make a 180 on it and repress it until he’s left with ashes in his mouth.

He knows it shouldn’t make him as awful as it is; but he never really did know how to say no whenever it has to do with one Steve Rogers.

Bucky drops on the empty spot Steve leaves for him and sighs, tilting his head back until the couch catches his fall. 

He feels the way those eyes look at him. “Rough night?”

“Nah, just a little tired. Followed your advice,” Bucky throws him a half smile. “Dot and I had fun.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, and Bucky wants to reach out and push his hair away from his forehead, even if the angle would be awkward from where he’s slumped. “All that dancing finally took it out of you, snappy toes?”

“I’m a chum who likes to dance, so sue me,” Bucky scoffs, tugging lightly on the corner of Steve’s blanket. “And I mighta drank a bit more than I usually do, so there’s also that, I guess.”

“Oh, was starting to think you were being a lightweight.”

“I can hold my liquor, Rogers,” Bucky drawls, causing Steve to smirk. God, Bucky wants to kiss him so badly; his lips shouldn’t look so red like that after waking up from his stupid nap. “I’m a lil’ more tipsy than I took myself for granted, I think I wasn’t even really seein’ where I was walkin’ when I got here.”

A frown wipes away the playful look from his face. “That’s dangerous, Buck. You coulda just sleep at Dot’s this time, or call me to pick you up.”

“When you should already be asleep?” Bucky shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “Nah, Steve. I’m fine walkin’ alone, I know where I was goin’. Just, I was thinking, s’all.”

“What got you thinkin’ so hard you weren’t even watching where you put your feet?”

“You.” Bucky presses his lips together the moment the word got out, cursing internally. He’s still far too drunk for this conversation, and he doesn’t want to go through it when he’s like that. He doesn’t want to go through it _ at all_.

Steve blinks at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky feels his mouth ramble on, letting his head slump onto his shoulder when he turns it to look at him directly. “It’s you. Always have.”

“I’m a devil on wheels,” Steve starts to joke, and Bucky feels the beginnings of panic festering in his chest when the air starts to tilt in _ that _ direction. “Of course you’d think ‘bout me, jerk, when I’m the cause of your shooting blood pressure at this point.”

“No, that’s the thing,” Bucky begins, and he’s on the role now, the beer in his bloodstream used as a burst of ammo in digging deeper into his own death. He can feel his palms start to sweat. “I’ve been thinking ‘bout you since we were walkin’ around Coney Island when we were thirteen, and you had chocolate on your cheek ‘cause you eat as if your Ma didn’t spend all her life trying to beat good presentation into your thick head. And after that, when you look like the damn sun every time you land a punch on some muck sayin’ bad things ‘bout other people.”

Steve’s staring at him now, mouth slightly agape as those bright blues seem to latch onto his words like life itself. Bucky audibly swallows. “And after that,” he continues in a low tone. “When I accidentally caught you at the back alley of the same club I’ve been goin’ with some other guy, and he had your cock so far down his throat I thought he was gonna choke on it.”

Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth, scratching his hair away from his face, the tips of his ears angry and red. “How—?”

“You didn’t see me ‘cause I wouldn’t let you,” Bucky explains. His mind is still _ reeling _ with how he’s telling this story to him — this dirty secret is supposed to be dragged with him to his goddamn grave. “I was having a smoke beside the dumpster when you two kids were on each other like cats on heat. Didn’t want to make it awkward as it already was.”

Steve turns to look at him sharply. “So you decided it’s free theatre for you?”

The wolfish grin feels far too strained on his face. “What kind I say? I’m not one to refuse entertainment.”

“You’re a perverted jackass,” Steve accuses him, cheeks flushed. Bucky shrugs. “You watch me get blown by one of the guys I met at the club and just fucking stood there with your cig as if it’s free advertising. What the fuck, Bucky.”

“You can’t honestly think that was the best blow you had,” Bucky snorts lightly. “Your boy looked blue enough to pass out. I think he wasn’t breathing right when he swallowed you down like a popsicle. His gag reflex was out of the window.”

“I never said it was the best blow.” Steve crosses his arms, and Bucky has never seen him so embarrassed and furious as he is then but then Steve’s words click into place. Bucky has to stop himself from fidgeting too much. “You’re awfully educated on that department, Buck, why don’t you tell me how it should go?”

When Bucky takes a breath, it staggers his lungs. “You’re walkin’ on another land there, Stevie.”

“Oh, it’s okay for you to talk shit ‘bout a guy goin’ down on me but we’re gonna ignore how you were there too?” It’s always fascinating how quickly Steve can unfurl for a fight; the way his shoulders tighten to his ears, his fingers dig into his palms is a show itself.

“I just got someone to fuck me in the last stall that day,” Bucky tells him, popping the angry bubble Steve’s build around himself in the surprise drop of his shoulders. “I was taking a break. The other guy went home to his wife.” Bucky smiles blithely. “They got married to hide how he likes fucking guys like me while his wife likes to kiss girls in the spare bedroom. Didn’t want to disappoint mummies and daddies dearest that they‘ve been raisin’ queer kids under their roof for their whole life.”

Steve lets his eyes roam over his face, searching. Bucky lets him.

It’s understandable, really, because Bucky comes back late at night when he usually would’ve just slept over at someone else’s place, talking about how he saw Steve getting his cock sucked behind the secret club Bucky’s been going for more than a year. And now they’re on their sofa, just an arm's length away, and Bucky wants to touch him with a need that’s as needy as any roaring fire fed by dry wood.

It’s easy, it’s too easy to just reach for Steve and kiss him like Bucky’s been wanting to do since he was thirteen.

“What do you want, Bucky?” Steve suddenly asks, and his words are as clear as a cracking whip in thin air.

Bucky wouldn’t want to play dumb on Steve, not when it comes to _ this_. It’s a miracle Steve is even considering this, whatever _ this _ is, between them.

“What we look for in that club,” Bucky answers, almost quiet as he gazes back. “But we’re still friends, everything else continues the same around us. There are just,” He wets his dry lips. “Special treatments.”

“You don’t want any strings attached,” Steve elaborates, matter-of-fact. It shouldn’t send a pang in the middle of Bucky’s chest when _ he’s _ the one who wants this first. “You want a quick fuck, but exclusively with me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky takes a deep breath, heart jumping to his throat. “_Yeah_. If you’re okay with this. I don’t wanna force you into something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, and it’s firm, the way he says it. Bucky ignores how his spine tingles at such authority. “I want to.”

Bucky makes sure to hold onto his look. “This isn’t charity.”

Steve snorts not unkindly, climbing out of his blanket burrito so that he’s side is pressed completely against Bucky’s. He’s warm and bony and completely incredible that Bucky leans back. “I do this because I want it too, Buck. No strings attached and everything.” Steve smiles, gesturing at their pressed arms. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” As if it isn’t. As if they haven’t done something as intimate as this at his house years ago, where they’re both huddled in Bucky’s bed with blankets over their heads with George Barnes’ big flashlight switched on between them, reading Frankenstein with wide eyes when they should be sleeping. “Of course it is.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I do this then?” Steve murmurs, reaching out for him, and Bucky feels the touch of his palm on his cheek.

“No,” he says quietly, feels how warm Steve’s breath is against one corner of his mouth. Bucky reaches up and lets his fingertips flitter against his wrist as Steve uses his thumb to brush it against his chin.

“Okay,” Steve says back, and then he’s tilting his head and kissing him.

Bucky stutters in a breath, surprised at how the touch of his mouth comes in contact with his that Steve almost leans back out of concern. But Bucky only surges forward and catches him again, letting his hand wrap fully around the ring of his wrist as he licks into his mouth.

Steve inhales sharply, both hands now cupping his face as he opens up for Bucky and lets him explore the maps of his mouth. Bucky nips his bottom lip, turning his torso fully to push Steve into the couch that Steve lets him, moaning softly into his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t know how it truly comes to this but he feels as if he’s floating on a huge mattress made of clouds and he doesn’t want to land down to earth anytime soon. It’s a spectacular feeling to run his hands under Steve’s shirt until it gets rucked up to his chest. Bucky’s able to feel his ribcage, the expanse of his collarbones, his hands cold enough to make Steve let out short puffs of breaths between them.

“Bucky,” he mutters, moaning softly when Bucky lets his thumbs flicker against his perk nipples.

“Shh, lemme take care of you,” Bucky cooes, kissing him long and hard before he migrates his mouth to his sternum, dragging his kisses down the length of milky skin that Steve wriggles underneath his touches. Bucky brings his kisses to each of his jutting hipbone as he pulls onto the waistbands of Steve’s pajama bottoms, letting his hands spread against his thighs as he pushes them open.

Bucky’s between his legs, the wooden floor cold underneath his knees as he kisses onto the soft skin underneath his belly button, and Steve’s clutching onto the blankets that’s spread around him.

“Gonna suck you,” Bucky murmurs, nosing his abdomen. “Gonna make you feel good.”

Steve lets out a breathless chuckle. “Gonna show Robert how to properly suck a cock?”

“Is that his name?” Bucky almost scoffs, something ugly stirring inside him before he focuses on sliding those pants down.

“The one you said who had shitty gag reflexes? Yeah, that’s him.”

Bucky knows the face of someone making an effort when he sees one, but holy _ shit _that Robert guy wasn’t joking when he took all of Steve in his mouth. Steve, for lack of a better word, is large, maybe slightly bigger than average. And his dick is hard and already leaking when Bucky pulls his pants off completely, eyes never leaving the way it curves up.

He’s seen Steve naked before. _Steve_ has seen Bucky naked before. But it’s a different thing altogether when you have it directly in front of your face.

“Fuck, Steve,” he whispers, mouth already watering.

Steve covers his eyes with the back of his hand, face clearly red. “It ain’t a two ton gold dropped from the skies, Buck. Get on with it.”

The demand mingling with exasperation in his tone is enough to make Bucky’s own dick twitch in his pants, a reminder in which he has to take care of when it’s straining painfully against his zipper.

Bucky groans. “Might as well be a fucking gold bar. You’re huge.”

Steve brings his shoulders to his ears, lifting his hand to give him a withering glare. “_Bucky_.”

“Alright,” Bucky chuckles, pressing a kiss to the head. He then let his tongue drag against the slit to lick off the precum that Steve’s hips stutter underneath him, a groan breaking free. Bucky pushes him down with a hand against his hip.

“Stay still,” Bucky tells him huskily, eyes meeting the ones above him. Bucky licks his lips that Steve’s gaze follows the gesture. “You can touch my hair.”

Bucky takes him in his mouth smoothly, sliding down halfway with his tongue working around him. Steve has his hand buried into his hair, holding on tight to the point it hurts as Bucky slides down deeper to take him all.

It’s having his nose pushed to light coloured hairs, trying to breathe through his nose as Bucky accommodates to the size that is Steve Rogers. His fingers flexes against his thighs, before he presses his tongue against the underside of his dick and drags his mouth back up halfway before sliding in again.

“Sweetheart,” Steve grunts, head tilting back against the couch. “You’re doing so good.”

Bucky moans around him when Steve tightens his grip onto his hair to make him stay still, moans at the nickname that goes directly to his own neglected cock, involuntarily clutching onto his thighs in response when Steve tugs his head to get his attention. Bucky looks up, blinking rapidly around the burn in his eyes.

It’ll slaughter him through front and back from the look Steve’s giving him. Bucky’s position on the floor is the only reason he hasn’t fallen from weak knees just yet, and he’s glad he’s sitting down. The soft way he gazes back at Bucky has him feel the familiarity of having his presence with him, and the sweet way his thumb brushes around Bucky’s stretched mouth has him almost fluttering his eyes close, a whine threatening to escape at how excruciatingly tender the moment feels.

Bucky doesn’t know what he sold his soul to. He doesn’t expect it to be this difficult, not when they’ve agreed this will be strictly for sex.

“Oh honey, you look so beautiful like this,” Steve murmurs, pressing his thumb into the corner of his opened lips that Bucky inhales sharply through his nose, smelling the musk on his skin. “Can’t believe I missed all the fun with you when we could’ve just done this sooner. Imagine how many times I could’ve come in your pretty mouth.”

_ Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. _

Bucky can’t help but moan pathetically around his dick, unable to move back from the grip Steve has on his head. The response he gets from him is equally agonising when fingers are tangled between his hair.

Steve’s thumb trace around the seam of his mouth before trailing to the length of jaw. “Need you to lower this for me, sweetheart, so that I can fuck you properly.”

The side of his head short circuits at the words, making Bucky feel like he’s gliding along with whatever that Steve needs as he loosens his jaw, and the pleased hum Steve emits makes him light up all over.

“Good boy,” Steve rumbles, before he pulls back and thrusts into his throat.

Bucky’s clutching onto his thighs, surely leaving imprints on his skin as Steve uses his mouth like an easily gaping sex toy. He doesn't know what feeling that’s burning up an inferno in his veins, but Bucky holds on for the ride and blinks away the upcoming tears collecting in his eyes.

Suddenly, Steve pulls him completely off that his dick pops out wetly from his mouth. Startled, Bucky only lets himself be held while Steve’s dick is near his cheek, smearing precum and saliva against his skin that Bucky almost turns his head to the side to suck him again.

Steve probably read his mind and smirks. “I could’ve done this until I’m done, but you’ve been wanting to suck my cock since you came back. I’m giving you the joy ride you’ve always wanted.”

“Was I that obvious?” Bucky rasps out innocently. He watches the way those dilated eyes take him in, and he can imagine how he looks like now; knelt in front of Steve’s cock with his head tilted back with what power that hand is holding onto him. His mouth is a mess, smeared and used. “I’m pretty sure I hid it better.”

“You’re drunk, I could still taste the beer.” Steve lets go of his hair and instead thumbs under his jaw. “I’m letting you do all the work now.”

“Fucking finally,” Bucky groans, ignoring Steve’s laughter before it gets choked out of surprise the moment Bucky wraps his mouth around the head, sucking it eagerly.

“Shit,” Steve groans, dropping his hands onto the blankets again for something to hold onto. “This isn’t gonna last long after just now.”

Bucky hums. “Whose fault is that?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Bucky kisses down the length before licking a broad stripe up with a lavishness of eating a huge lollipop, hearing the soft curses Steve makes. Bucky takes him in his mouth again until he’s at the root, his fingers fondling with his balls that Steve’s hip almost lurches off the couch.

“Bucky, _ fuck,”_ Steve pants, twisting the blanket in his fists as he drops his head back. “I’m close, you gotta—“

Bucky hums around him again, tongue moving and his jaw is starting to ache but he doesn’t mind; it’s disgusting, it’s _ sloppy_, but Bucky takes it all and Steve doesn’t stop when he comes down his throat with a bitten off gasp against his palm, back arching off the couch that Bucky has to push him back down to prevent himself from choking on his dick.

Bucky slurps everything up, making sure no drop is wasted as he milks it to his heart’s content, licking Steve’s softening dick to clean the last of it all up.

Steve’s panting and pliant when Bucky finally lifts his head, but he has this bright look in his eyes, and that prevents nothing from Bucky to stretch up and kiss the fucked out look from his face, swallowing the moan Steve makes when he’s able to taste himself on Bucky’s tongue.

Bucky gasps lightly when a hand grabs onto his still hard dick. Steve rubs his thumb up and down his length through his pants, and Bucky’s shameless in rutting against his palm as he groans. “Need a lil’ help?” Steve asks lightly.

“God, you’re such a jackass post orgasm,” Bucky snipes against his mouth, choking out in surprise when Steve tugs down his zipper and grabs his dick through the open flap.

“That’s because you were a jackass first by watching me from beside a dumpster,” Steve says, amused, letting his fingers squeeze his dick until Bucky bowls over him with his forehead pushed onto his shoulder, panting lightly. “If you wanted a taste, I’d just give it to you.”

“Jesus on a pogostick, the _ mouth _on you,” Bucky whines, open-mouthed against his shirt when he hips move to find friction against Steve’s hand. “C’mon, Stevie, please.”

“So, now you’re polite,” Steve nips his ear, twisting his wrist at the same time that a choked out groan rips out of Bucky’s throat, back snapping into a curve that ends up with him pushing himself into Steve more. “I dunno, Buck. Think you deserve to come after everything you told me?”

“_Steve_,” Bucky pleads. “You gotta—“

“I gotta do nothing but,” Steve smiles into his neck. “Meet me in the shower.”

It takes a while for Bucky to catch up, and when he does, Steve’s already pushing him back and slipping out of his hold and stepping out of his pants, walking towards their shared bathroom ass-naked as he leaves Bucky on the floor with his fly open and dick threatening to pop out.

Bucky stares after him, disoriented from the sudden change of events, before Steve calls out, “Once I clean up, I’m going to bed.”

Bucky knows a threat when he hears it. He strips himself naked, dick hard and aching by his hip, and speed walks to the bathroom.


	2. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’re nothing,” Bucky tells him, and Steve scoffs at this, brushing off his assurance and touch when he lays the uniform beside the mattress to avoid wrinkles. Bucky wants to burn it to the ground.
> 
> “They’re what I want,” Steve says, and the shine in his eyes seems a bit brighter when he tilts Bucky’s chin with his fingers. Bucky suppresses a shiver at how he’s able to see the chill in his look. “I’ve got another 4F today, so you’re the best thing that’s happening to me right now, especially after I got my ass mulled by some dickward who thinks he can be a funny guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve chosen a few days for this chapter, so enjoy!
> 
> 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟗 — 𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠  
𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟏 — 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐫  
𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟒 — 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

The buzzing on his nape doesn’t disappear. 

It’s resilient, long enough that Bucky almost feels bad to make this war as his personal agenda to chase away what demons that festered until they live at the corner of his eye. When he first gets the letter of approval, the sigma of the US Army a searing thing on the thin paper, a small, terrible feeling of relief snaps in his chest hard enough for guilt to engulf its very essence.

He thinks he’s a monster to even think that way, and he knows he’s right on that account when he keeps the letter hidden in between drawers until it’s for him to pack up. The feeling of Steve’s eyes boring into Bucky weighs onto his conscience more than he would care to admit, and he likes to think that it’s in his imagination that Steve is able to pick up exactly what he is doing.

The letter still burns in his pocket. Bucky isn’t running away, not when he’s making a difference by doing good for his country and those printed words are proof of how he’s ready, but he’s jumpy. He thinks Steve’s going to crack his ribs open and see what Bucky’s been hiding from him, and he’ll be disappointed — for all the years that they’ve been friends, Bucky knows Steve to deflate when it comes to him. Everything, sometimes the fire Bucky is so used to seeing, washes down to the minimal that it gives him some sort of leeway in getting away with what he wants.

It makes Bucky feel as if slime coats his skin and threatens to slide down his throat but he ignores it by giving his best friend a hug that lasts longer than both of them like to admit, clutching onto Steve like he’s his lifeline.

“I still wish I could come with you,” Steve says against his shoulder, muffled and mulish as his palms almost subconsciously rubs up and down his back.

It makes everything a little harder to let go, but Bucky leans away to give him a smile. “You will.”

Steve decides to humour him with a wry one of his own. “You’ll see me walkin’ in that same camp one day and it’s over for you, Barnes.”

Bucky laughs. The night before, when the familiar sounds of the city doesn’t provide the same comfort like it usually does, Steve helps him go through it; it’s the softest of touches and how firm he’s been in kissing Bucky until he shudders out a breath. The assurance in the grip of his fingers on his hip when Bucky rides him has his chest opening, and for once in many days, he feels so _ light _ and so _ sure _ and has to bite his lip hard to keep the whimper from breaking out when he comes. The onslaught of kisses on his neck as Steve gently settles him down on their mattress makes Bucky blink the tears away rapidly.

Bucky gives Steve a small salute, leaving their home and taking his shadows with him.

He trains and climbs and scrambles his way under barbed wires. Bucky does what needs to be done and then he earns the titles they bestow him with.

The buzzing is persistent. He doesn’t tell Steve this in his letters, but the feeling is there all the same. 

It takes him months, but when Bucky comes back, he seeks out Steve’s touches like a dying man and almost pleads for him to tear this uniform off him. Maybe, the itching on his nape will go away with it. Maybe, Steve would chase everything off with a stick and Bucky would be able to breathe a little better.

But Steve makes sure he’s careful when he unbuttons everything one by one, slides them all off as if it’s made of flimsy silk ready to be torn. Bucky sees how envious Steve actually is when his fingers brush over his badges, and Bucky takes his hand in his. 

“They’re nothing,” Bucky tells him, and Steve scoffs at this, brushing off his assurance and touch when he lays the uniform beside the mattress to avoid wrinkles. Bucky wants to burn it to the ground.

“They’re what I want,” Steve says, and the shine in his eyes seems a bit brighter when he tilts Bucky’s chin with his fingers. Bucky suppresses a shiver at how he’s able to see the chill in his look. “I’ve got another 4F today, so you’re the best thing that’s happening to me right now, especially after I got my ass mulled by some dickward who thinks he can be a funny guy.”

“What, I’m your tolerance buffer now, is that it?” Bucky snipes. Steve nips his jaw in response.

“Maybe.” Bucky can feel a smile growing against his skin as Steve unbuttons his pants. He exhales sharply when fingers wrap around his length, the tips of them almost cold when Bucky’s burning a hundred degrees underneath the attention Steve is giving him. “Maybe, I just miss your yappin’.”

When Bucky comes that night, he kisses Steve hard and messy to silence the moan almost rips out of his throat. If Steve ever notices how quiet he’s been, he doesn’t say. Instead, he wipes Bucky down with a wet cloth from where he’s bent over him, naked as Bucky is, and he’s able to count the knobs on his spine when Bucky pulls Steve nearer to bury his face into his neck.

Perhaps the agreement they’ve made threatens to tilt in some ways as time passes, because Bucky is sure they don’t get to be this affectionate before that. He’s pretty sure he’s so used to touch Steve more that the first time he ships off, there’s a gaping being existing in the ring of his arms that he’s so sure he’d get sick if he doesn’t at least try to write something to Steve.

It makes him jump twenty feet in the air whenever someone peeks over his shoulder that Bucky starts to be more discreet in where he writes. They’ll make fun of him for always writing to his lovely dame waiting for him at home; he laughs with them because if he corrects them and say it’s Steve on his paper and mind, they’ll drop Bucky over the ship.

He realises he’s slipped and fallen so far for Steve, it makes the buzzing die down to faint humming whenever they’re like this; tangled together, simply not wanting to let go.

Bucky purses his lips, and Steve brushes away the bangs from his forehead as if he just _ knows _what runs in his head that Bucky simply closes his eyes and relishes on the touch.

Bucky goes back and trains with more people and more people listen to him; _ Sergeant Barnes_, they would greet him at the mess hall. _ Sergeant Barnes_, they would say when he has to discipline kids younger than he’d been when he first joins this hell. _ Sergeant Barnes_, Corporal Samson would say, when it’s time he and the 107th have their turn of fun.

They fall in, they attack, they get captured.

* * *

“I wish I had my trumpet,” Gabe mutters, back pushed to the bark of a tree from where they’re all huddled around the small fire. “All the waiting is killing me.”

“Not just that it will,” Dugan grumbles, shoving his hands into his armpits. “I’ll beat you with it for even thinking something stupid.”

“I _ know _ we can’t make a damn noise in this place, jackass, but it’ll make the waiting bearable.” Gabe flaps his hand around their circle, and the other members of the Howling Commandos look back at him in mild amusement. “Look at ‘em, all miserable because _ you _ don’t know how to have fun.”

Dugan sniffs. “I can have _ fun_.”

Bucky rubs his nail with his other thumb over and over again as he listens to their banter; it’s true though, there’s so much they could do as they wait for a patrol to ransack in order to get in the town HYDRA is heavily guarding. The electric fences stand more than ten feet and are always switched on, with soldiers always walking down the area with weapons in their hands.

It doesn't help that it’s cold and they’re all freezing to their balls. Bucky is more than ready to take them down after being forcefully fed with whatever concoction they put in his veins — the months he’s been under their eye isn’t something he’d like to go through again, and he makes sure to destroy every port they’ve made with extreme hatred.

The buzzing has turned into full on prickling and Bucky doesn’t like how his fingers twitch because of it too. More than once he finds himself holding onto the back of his neck and digging his fingers into it to ease some of the feeling away, but it doesn’t help — if anything, he feels as if he’ll scramble at the slightest alien sound that it takes twice as his willpower to appear as if he isn’t affected by the poison running in his system.

“You’ll basically be a Pied Piper to Nazis, though,” Morita muses, almost thoughtful. “Lead them out in one long line and then we shoot them. That sounds fun.”

Gabe nods seriously as Dugan _ hmphs _ under his mustache. “Exactly.”

“And hopefully they’re stupid enough to fall for it too,” Steve adds, grinning, and Bucky presses onto his the nail of his thumb until it turns white. “It’ll make our job easier. But they’re a buncha pretentious bastards so taking them down in one organised line is giving them a lil’ more credit than they deserve. We gotta wait.”

“Cap’s got a point,” Falsworth agrees, stretching his arms above his head. “So, more waiting it is.”

Everyone else grunt out their agreement. Bucky lets go of his abused digit and instead reaches out for his rifle. It’s something to do with his hands, something to hold, because the heat emitting from the body beside him has Bucky wanting to touch him and he’s not ready for that yet. He doesn’t know if he'll ever be, with how his mind isn’t able to wrap around the change of it all fully.

He fiddles with it until it’s finally time for them to go, and Bucky climbs on the nearest tree as lookout while Morita hangs around at the foot of it with a gun of his own. Bucky takes a deep breath, feels how the cold air stings his nostrils when he sees headlights coming their way. One truck, maybe five soldiers occupying it.

He lets out a low chirp that Morita hands out the same message towards their team. He keeps a lookout for any strays, sees how Steve slinks beside the vehicle with that shield on his arm. He clamps a hand over the face of the driver and yanks him out, hardly any noise made when he breaks the soldier’s neck. Before the rest of them could react, the Howling Commandos pounce on them and it takes a couple of minutes before they succeeded in taking the truck.

Bucky clammers down the tree and takes the nearest soldier’s uniform. Steve watches him from the sides, and it makes Bucky tug on the buttons a little harder than it should. “Something on my face?”

Steve looks startled at being addressed, before he steps closer to where Bucky remains at the sides, almost a little unsure. “You sure about this?”

“This is all your plan, pal,” Bucky reminds him, pushing his jacket off to switch with a grey one with a splotch of red on his left forearm. He still hasn’t adjusted to how he has to tilt his head up a bit to actually meet Steve in the eyes now. “We go in, beat some asses, and then we get out.”

“I know that.”

“Then, what’s the problem?” Bucky changes out of his pants before collecting all his clothes in one arm. The whole outfit looks fucking ugly and feels as much too, but if he’s going to play villian, Bucky’s going to have to look the part. 

“I—“ Steve begins, but then Dugan lets out a low whistle for their attention. They’re ready.

“We have to go,” Bucky puts on the helmet and makes his way to the truck. Steve’s gaze remains a heavy thing on the back of his head, pulled down by familiarity. Bucky only shoves his clothes into the bag Falsworth brings with him before he climbs into the truck.

Bucky mans the wheel with Dernier beside him in his own uniform, and Bucky shows what documents the person at the gate needs. The HYDRA agent gives him a long look when he lifts his gaze off the papers, at Dugan and Falsworth at the backseat. Steve, Gabe, and Morita are quiet at the back, and thankfully, no one decided it’s a good time for a quick run through even if they’ve been expecting this truck’s arrival.

Bucky calmly stares back. 

“Your picture looks older,” the agent comments in German, but gives back the documents to Bucky.

“Must be the poor light,” Bucky replies smoothly in the same language. He smiles. “Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra!” The agent then shouts for the others to let them through, and they amble down the road to make their way towards the town.

“That’s so fucking tacky,” Dernier mutters darkly in his native tongue, making Bucky chuckle. “I’m looking forward to using my new toys.”

“Easy, buddy,” Bucky murmurs in kind as they get nearer to the capital of the town, where a clock tower stands high in the middle of the court. “Just a couple more minutes.”

The factory humbles itself at the outskirts of the town with another ten minutes of driving. Bucky tightens his grip around the steering wheel when he sees the building looming in the night.

When the fight starts going on full-swing, Bucky makes sure he gets every single one of these vipers he could have his hands on. It’s shooting them down one by one when more come to fight, shouts and bombs going off left and right and Bucky’s more than glad to be part of a force to take it all down.

But it doesn’t get rid of the prickle of needles travelling across his skin. Bucky’s been hoping all the excitement would be enough to soothe him in ways he knows won’t, but it’s a _ thought. _He’s been in this job for more than a few years, he wants it to end faster than anyone else, but he keeps getting himself in situations where a cold splash of water won’t break him out of this reverie he’s floating in.

The feeling branches out to his teeth now, and if he keeps grinding them together any longer, he’s going to eat sludge food for the rest of his life.

The nearby tank explodes after Steve slices it through with his new shield, leaping off the vehicle that has Bucky’s heart jumping to his throat.

He has to remind himself that Steve’s bigger now, a body that’s finally proportional to the spirit no one else has seen before Project Rebirth happened. Steve’s finally heard only because his now massive shoulders troughs through the obstacles his old body wouldn’t have the endurance to handle, exchanging brute strength where it’s finally fair. He’s healthier, Bucky hears, all the sicknesses he’s suffered throughout the years healed with the serum.

It should be a relief. It _ is _ a relief, and Bucky has never felt so happy for him when he’s been given an opportunity for a longer life, especially since many doctors say Steve would be lucky he’ll live even past thirty.

It doesn’t mean Steve should throw it all away for him.

Bucky never knew what pure rage feels like until that long distance between himself and Steve on that bridge. They’ve been separated before, have gone months without being in the same room or even the same place, but that moment is a clarity of what really matters. Bucky, even if dragged down by Zola’s drug, isn’t going _ anywhere_.

How dare he? How dare he, Steve Rogers, a man many have only _ dream _ of becoming would suggest Bucky to leave him behind? Just when he thought he finally has the time to see Steve again, to finally _ be _with him, only for Steve to suggest that atrocity?

No, Bucky will be rageful for as long as he pleases. He will _ not _ leave Steve behind even if his own life is on the verge of falling down.

Which isn’t very long. He can feel the way it teetering around the edges, and Bucky has this sinking doom someone’s going to collect him the moment he drops somewhere with his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

But, Bucky will _ never _ leave him.

There’s movement at the corner of his eye, and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to shoot the HYDRA soldier down before he gets his hands on Steve.

When Steve makes eye contact with him, Bucky curses underneath his breath and _ moves_.

* * *

His hands are shaking.

Bucky feels as if he wants to crawl out of his own skin but he doesn’t. He’s breathing heavily through his mouth when he slams open the door to the bedroom he’s been given to rest.

_ Peggy got it covered_, Steve tells him, his smile achingly soft from when they first stand in front of the inn. There are sandbags piled in front of the lower floor windows and the sign dangling above the door looks like it’s been repainted. _ Go on, I’ll have to give a brief report to Colonel Phillips_.

Bucky despises those words then more than ever when he only wants Steve with him but, he has a point; Bucky probably stinks as well as he looks with how dirt hides under his nails, so he makes his aching muscles walk and get himself a room to crash into.

It’s late at night, and he’s just gotten back from the pub with bile swirling in his throat, his mind is a mess of a whirling tornado ready to fuck up the walls of his skull. It’s not the drink, he’s only had one glass the whole night before Steve sat down to pull him into another agreement.

Fighting with him, giving his life for him.

Red dress. Red lipstick.

Bucky curls his fingers into his palm and tries to stop it from shaking.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” He rasps out, and he swivels around when the door knob twists open, only to reveal Steve.

He’s still in his uniform, looks sharper than Bucky is when he’s wearing something similar, the greens and golds now on Steve’s chest when Bucky has thrown his to the bottom of his duffel bag, and it sparks a memory that reminds him of too determined eyes, of how his own uniform is laid almost lovingly beside their bed. It takes a moment for him to gather his wits.

The furrow on his brows are so full of concern as Steve closes the door behind him. “Bucky? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky manages, pressing his hand to his side to hide it from him.

Steve sees it nonetheless and it makes Bucky want to scream at the way he’s able to push down his defenses with only his pinky. Bucky has been so careful, he isn’t going to tumble _ now_. “Bucky, what—“

“I’m _ fine_, Steve,” Bucky repeats, and it may come out a little defensive on his part. He doesn’t care. He crosses the room and goes through his duffel he left on his bed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You left in a hurry, I thought you were sick,” Steve says, leaning against the nearest wall. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky says, pulling out a clean shirt for the night, some toiletries. His hand still shakes. His body feels like it’s vibrating on its own record but he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

Suddenly, a large hand covers over his, and it’s only instinct that Bucky jerks back and Steve let's go, eyes wide as he lifts his hands near his chest in surrender. “You’re shaking,” Steve explains slowly, as if he’s talking to a frightened animal and that makes Bucky feel disgusted with himself. “I’m sorry I touched you.”

“_Don’t_—” Bucky swallows thickly, holding tight onto his shirt that he’s afraid he’ll tear it apart. “Don’t say that. _ Never _ fucking say that.”

Steve’s worried in the frown that’s beginning to grow. “You need to tell me what’s going on, Buck. So that I can understand what you want.”

“Let’s start with this,” Bucky steps into his space until they are almost chest to chest, and the body heat Steve gives out now is so absurd to his mind that Bucky almost wavers. “You don’t tell me to leave you. You _ never _tell me to leave you behind when I’ve made sure I’ve been by your side all my damn life.”

Steve looks as if he’s ready to argue. “I’ve never—“

“You don’t have to,” Bucky snaps, squaring his shoulders. “I made that decision myself. This is my choice.”

The stretch of silence does nothing to his nerves, but Bucky refuses to step back. He knows how Steve’s head works, he knows how the man thinks he’s disposable like everyone else but that’s not the case. Bucky is going to make sure the point hits home and true.

“You know I can’t promise that,” Steve says then, and Bucky reels back as if hit. “If it’s gonna be a choice to protect you or have my life snuffed out, I’ll choose you to be safe, Buck. This isn’t even up for debate.”

“For fuck sakes, you think I don’t want you safe?” Bucky demands. “You think I want to have bullets spat into your back? I’m not gonna run away just because you told me to, and _ that _ isn’t up for debate. Don’t you ever order me to do something like that again, Rogers.”

“Fuck you, Bucky, I almost lost you once,” Steve growls, and Bucky inhales sharply when Steve straightens himself up. Bucky’s forgotten how big Steve is then, towering over him in his new height. “If whatever bullshit I did meant keeping you safe, then that’s what will happen. If it meant I was gonna die, then it _ will _ happen.”

Before he realises it, Bucky slams him to the wall, arm pressed to his windpipe as he snarls, “Then don’t fucking disrespect _ my _ wishes when I still _ chose _ to protect your ass. I know you’re capable of sticking for your own neck now than you did last year, but fuck me backwards, you ain’t _ immortal_. Stop acting like you are.”

He’s shaking again. He never stopped in the first place, and Steve’s able to feel it when Bucky’s all pressed up against him like that. It blows out his frustration like a candle.

Steve tentatively touches his arm, bright blue eyes never leaving his. “Bucky?”

“You’re not—“ Bucky swallows thickly, his hold flexing. “You don’t live forever. I gotta— we—“

“I’m here,” Hands cup his face, a gesture that makes Bucky drop his own arm from Steve’s neck and clutch onto the front of his uniform. “I’m here.”

Bucky shudders, holding on tighter, and Steve wraps his arms around him until they both lean back against the wall and slide down to the floor. They’re pressed together with not an inch of space available between them, the quietness that settles above their heads has the buzzing on his neck stand out, but not as loud as it used to be. Not when they’re piled on the floor like this.

Bucky’s able to hear the beat of Steve’s heart against his own chest, steady and sure. He wouldn’t be surprised if Steve can feel his jackrabbit of a pace.

Bucky knows what he wants, he knows he’s shameless in asking but he _ needs _ it. “Steve,” he croaks out, licking his dry lips when he feels thumbs brushing the bone of his cheeks. “Steve, please.”

Steve pauses for a while, and it makes Bucky skirmish at the lack of movement that he moves to sit properly between his legs and tilts his head up, nose bumping into Steve’s. “_Steve_,” he murmurs. “Steve, _ please_.”

Nothing happens for a while, before the hands on his face drag down to his neck that Bucky is able to feel the press of each thumb against his flesh, the pressure familiar and utterly welcomed. He tilts his head up for more access when they stop at his collarbone, those hands spread against his shoulders.

“I need you to tell me what you want,” Steve reminds him gently, and then he has his thumb press against the corner of his lips. 

Bucky lets them part on their own record and takes the digit into his mouth, tasting the salt on it when he twirls his tongue around it eagerly, hand holding onto his wrist.

Steve takes it out and presses it more firmly against the middle of his lips, the whole finger enough to stop Bucky from opening his mouth again fully. It sends a spark down his spine when the look in Steve’s eyes has already darkened. “That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

“Steve,” Bucky pleads, hands gripping onto his belt. 

“I need you to tell me,” Steve says again, firm.

Bucky’s heavily acquainted with this tone, with the treatment that comes with it. It doesn’t make the ants on his neck cease, and Bucky groans lightly in exasperation when he nips his thumb. “‘Need you,” he replies. “Inside me. Please. I can’t— I’m—“

“Alright,” Steve murmurs, and when he kisses Bucky, it lets out a horrible kind of yearning he doesn’t know he’s been keeping captive; and Bucky _ whines_, feels how it takes root in his body and curls around each vein like it’s finally home.

Their kiss turns frantic and biting and Steve tries to smooth it out into longer sessions that Bucky has no patience for. “Please,” he gasps out, kissing Steve again, hands already tugging on his tie.

Once Bucky gets to unbutton the stupid uniform, he’s faced with an impressive expanse of skin and chest, light blonde hairs curling almost daintily. Bucky runs a hand up his stomach and watches the way it caves under his cold touch, hears the shuddering breath Steve lets out beside his ear.

Bucky presses a kiss near his ear, hands wandering to touch Steve, to feel him again, to get to know him in this new body. “What did they do to you?”

“It’s a matter of what I agreed to,” Steve answers, the last of his sentence turning faint when Bucky squeezes his pecs, full and bountiful in his hands. It makes him groan in appreciation. 

“I wasn’t there for twenty minutes and you make yourself sign up as a lab rat,” Bucky grumbles, dragging open-mouthed kisses under his jaw. “What else did you do?”

He feels Steve move a bit as he stretches for Bucky’s bag and pulls it down with a _ thump_, dragging it to his side as he begins rifling through his things without looking at it. “If I told you everything, we’d be fightin’ again.”

Bucky nips his ear. “That bad, huh?”

Steve unbuttons his pants and zips down his fly. “Oh, you have _ no _ idea.”

The first touch of a slick finger against his entrance has Bucky stuttering in a breath at the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Steve cranes his head to catch his lips into another long kiss while his finger traces lazily around his hole. It makes Bucky squirm, and Steve tightens his hold around his hip by hefting him onto his lap. Bucky can feel how hard he already is when his own cock is pressed against his.

When the first finger breaches through, Bucky moans into his mouth, allowing Steve to swipe his tongue against the top row of his teeth as he fucks Bucky with his finger, sliding it in and out slowly as if he’s taking his time.

That’s not what Bucky wants. He says so by trying to push the pace faster with a roll of his hips, but Steve only makes sure he doesn’t move. 

“Steve,” Bucky complains, trying to wriggle in Steve’s vice grip. “You’re takin’ so damn long, c’mon.”

Steve hums, slipping in another finger until Bucky has to bite his lip at the stretch. Steve’s fingers are thicker, longer, moving with their own sweet time that Bucky’s going to lose his damn mind anytime soon if this doesn’t escalate to what he wants.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Steve croons. “You take me so well like this, swallowing up my fingers.” He kisses his temple. “How about we keep it that way, huh?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna fuck you open with only two of my fingers and you’re gonna come that way,” Steve says in a sickening sweet tone. “We’ll take it slow today.”

“_Fuck_, no that’s not what I want,” Bucky retaliates. Suddenly, Steve stops moving altogether.

Bucky stiffens at the sudden stillness. “Steve?”

“Well, since you don’t wanna do that, I guess we could stop,” Steve says casually. Bucky can feel the way he retracts his fingers and panics. “I mean, s’not what you want anyway, so—“

“No! No, _ fuck_, don’t pull out,” He’s desperate, Bucky knows this but he can’t bring himself to give a flying fuck when he’s stuffed deep with supersoldier fingers and _ Christ_, he’s not gonna let Steve leave him hanging halfway. Bucky bares his teeth. “Finish what you started, you clown, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Bucky chokes when two fingers slam in again, making his toes curl in his boots. Steve chuckles, pushing deep still. “I love how your mouth works, but tonight, I’m taking care of you.”

“Torturing me ain’t it, honey,” Bucky breathes out heavily, forehead slumping against his shoulder. “Oh, fuck—“

Steve spreads his two fingers apart, widening his hole, and Bucky moans deep into his bare shoulder as he moves hips in order to get his dick to slide against Steve’s. There’s hardly anything he can do when he’s trapped like this, but Bucky _ tries _ since Steve absolutely refuses to give him what he really needs.

It’s the quiet and loving murmurs Steve continues to feed him, playing Bucky like a violin with how skilled his fingers move, brushing and prodding his prostate until Bucky’s a panting mess on his lap, dick leaking with precum and making a mess of his front and Steve’s pants. 

He’s sweating and his thighs are shaking from where he’s holding himself up with his knees, and Bucky feels like he’s going to burst anytime soon when the slide of Steve’s fingers continue to be a nightmare and a dream because he’s not allowed to touch himself; Steve makes himself very clear when he stops moving again.

Bucky’s close, he can feel the pressure build more when Steve brushes against his sweet spot again. Bucky pushes his face into his neck, making a small noise. “Steve, Steve, please—“

“You’re gonna come, honey?” Steve asks, twisting his wrist that has Bucky groaning out loud. 

“Yes, _ yes,_” he gasps out. The grip Steve has around his waist loosens and Bucky grinds his hips against him, trying to find some friction enough for relief.

Steve curls his fingers, causing Bucky to cry out softly. “Steve, I’m gonna—“

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve assures. “You can come. You can do it, baby.”

Steve parts his fingers again, causing Bucky to moan as spurts of come splatters over his front, some hitting Steve’s uniform in the process. 

“You did good, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful when you’re like this,” Steve tells him proudly, turning his head to nose his temple. “We just need to clean a bit, okay?”

Bucky lets out a faint noise when Steve pulls out his fingers, holding onto him tight as Steve shifts around to reach for the tissues on the bedside cabinet. He slumps back against the wall, and starts to wipe his hand from where they rest on the middle of Bucky’s back.

Bucky smiles, letting his mouth flitter across the bare shoulder underneath him before planting a kiss just below his eye, another on his brow. Steve hums and turns his head to take his lips with his, kissing him sweet.

God, this isn’t what friends do. This isn’t what they agreed between them. This is far from _ no strings attached _ when Bucky feels as if he’s on cloud nine, heart fluttering excitedly in his chest as he angles his face to have a taste of Steve more, to take and _ take _ what he has with him now.

Bucky has to admit; it’s not just him, Steve has been giving him these soft looks and extra attention as much as Bucky has been trying not to show how much he has his heart cradled in his palm. One squeeze — that’s all it takes. But Bucky’s all too willing to let Steve hold it for him for as long as the sun still shines and the moon takes care of them all.

He wants to talk about it, wants to ask if it’ll ever be past just-fucking between them when Bucky wants it to be _ more_. But, not now, perhaps. Not when he’s given the chance to have Steve like this when there’s a threat of him being taken away. Steve touches his cheek as if he’s the most dearest thing he has in his arms, careful and almost afraid.

Bucky leaves it like that.


	3. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no indulging himself. He lets a small bottle of lube fall into his basket before checking out with the rest of his last grocery shopping but he hasn’t used it. It’s there, still in the plastic bag he’s shoved into the only cabinet in his apartment. He hasn’t looked at it since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sticks leggy up. Fellas, welcome to the new age of pain and jacking it off to ye ol’ past life.
> 
> 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟑 — 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤  
𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Are they all worth it, really?

The surge of memories have done nothing but make him push his throbbing head to the cold, hard surface of the wall and grit his teeth so hard they might break. It’s bad enough he keeps having these outbursts at random parts of the day, but the pain that comes with it has him think it’d be better if he simply doesn’t _ remember_.

But, of course, that isn’t going to happen now. Not when the reason he’s living in this small apartment is because they’ve come back. Not when the reason the Soldier has slink back into the shadows is because he has seen _ his _face again.

It’s confusing, it makes him lose sleep and appetite whenever the worst of those crystal clear images playing behind his eyes subsides. One of these days something might just break, and he doesn’t want it to come to that when he has little things to call his in the first place.

The apartment, for example. Hacking and stealing HYDRA’s money is something he should’ve done earlier just so he could avoid sleeping in moving trains, but after the debacle with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the twenty-hour surveillance the scraps of those who survived have their target on him, the Soldier keeps his head down and walks on.

He keeps seeing the Captain’s face for the past month as the headlines keep blaring out his victory in exposing the long-living HYDRA into the open. Sometimes, the Widow shows her face. Captain America stands in front of dozens of microphones, flashes going off right and left. The Soldier finds himself looking for the scars and bruises he gives him on that day.

It sparks something deep and yawning underneath his chest whenever he thinks of that man, but Captain America has easily infiltrated the Soldier’s mind during the time they stand in the middle of the DC streets that the man probably has been involved in his life, some way or another. The Captain would hardly be a handler when the Soldier’s mission is to execute him on sight, but he certainly isn’t HYDRA when he tries to kill the Soldier back.

No. Captain America deflects his attacks but he isn’t actively trying to kill him back. If anything, the man appears to be utterly devastated the first time he pulls the mask off the Soldier, rooted to asphalt with iron and dust settling in the Soldier’s mouth as Captain America stares at him with open vulnerability.

The Soldier could’ve struck when he did, but what frightens him more than anything is how _ he _ stands there frozen, as if something in his body lights up red at the voice of that man’s call, at the word he utters when those blue, blue eyes stare at him in wide-open horror.

It echoes in his sleep whenever he decides to close his eyes; it waves through his conscious and sinks into bones that he wakes up with sweat on his forehead, his pulse running a thousand miles a minute. He’ll have his blanket scrunched up in his hands, the shadows on his walls slither in and out of his sight.

_ Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky— _

It’s unpleasant. He loses more sleep for this. He loses his sense of existence, and time becomes fluid around him. Once, he wakes up the third time that day with dusk hanging outside his window, his last meal eaten out of the cereal box exactly twenty-four hours before. He’s still in his pajamas, the only blanket he owns is pulled tightly to his chin, and the humming pipes behind his wallpaper greet him with open excitement.

It’s sugar flakes, the box on his counter preens out. He discovers he likes it even if the taste prickles his tongue with its excessive amount of sugar. He’s been given bland food all his life that having something _ more _ for himself almost makes him go through panic attacks. It makes him grab the nearest thing he can find, slap some bills on the register and flees back to his place with his hoodie up.

He forgets to get milk for his cereal. He eats them dry for the next couple of days before he squares himself up for another grocery shopping and this time, he has a list ready. It’s pushing what he needs to survive in his basket and then he waits for them to be checked out, nerves a crackling burst of fireworks on his nape and his hands buried deep in his jacket.

He bolts out again. 

The unit he stays hardly has any people, and that suits him just fine when he doesn’t bump into any neighbours who will probably decide to be friendly at some point. It’s smooth sailing up the stairs before he locks himself in his apartment until it’s time to go out again.

The longer he is out of the cryo, more memories he almost refuses to believe come crashing in boulders.

HYDRA has planted in his mind he’s part of them since the beginning of his life; he’s born in a hospital with no mother to care for him and no father to teach him about growing up. He isn’t American. He is born god-knows-when. He has no siblings. He is a lone child. He grows with HYDRA holding his shoulder. There are always handlers, doctors, who would be dragging him through the hours in the room with the chair.

So when this new memories, memories he can’t recall, make themselves known, he questions whether they’re real because how can they?

The humanity in these memories has him keeling for a life he used to have because he sees _ him_. He sees Captain America— _ Steve_, his mind supplies in a wretched sob. _ Steve Rogers_, different in some visions but same in spirit. The Soldier sees him in alleys and in classrooms with his fists always lifted to his chest — always _ fighting_, always _ true _ to what he believes in, and that shines brighter than anything else as the Soldier roars through it all with his fingers scratching into his skull.

There are others as well. Sometimes he sees himself —younger, perhaps bolder— as he hauls boxes at the docks or even works in an office with papers stacked high on his desk. He doesn’t see what his past self has been working on, but he knows it has to do with numbers. Accounting. He may be in charge of the financial side of a company he can no longer recall the name to.

He remembers a modest house with parents who love him, a sister who looks up to him and he remembers how he dots on her as much as he bickers with her. He remembers how she’d rearrange her dolls on her shelves, or how his parents would try to give him money when he’ll move in with Steve but he refuses. _ Save it for Becca_, he’ll say because he knows she needs it more than he does.

That doesn’t stop them from slipping half of the amount into his luggage when he has his head turned. He remembers being exasperated with them for that, remembers reluctantly letting it go when they insist.

He comes to address himself as Bucky again; it’s reclaiming the name he lost when that word keeps getting spoken from the people who knew him, loved him.

Most of them are long gone now. The second time he remembers Becca, he searches for her. He finds that she’s old and frail with children and grandchildren to look after her. He sees this from where he holds a bouquet of tulips in hand, remembers how she loves them on her dresser. Bucky leaves the porch before they could spot him, his chest lighter in ways it hasn’t been in a long time.

He visits the local cemetery and finds that George and Winnifred Barnes are buried there. He crouches down and splits the bouquet into two before putting them on their graves.

He knows he’ll visit Sarah Rogers’ grave with Steve sometimes. He distinctly remembers how they’ll bring a small cake and a bottle of gin with them. _ Happy birthday _swirls red on the cake, and Steve blows it for her when the clock strikes twelve. 

Bucky forgets what flavour she likes, though. He doesn’t remember whether Steve has been crying this time or not too.

* * *

Bucky stares at the television with a tightened jaw when it shows Sokovia falling down from the skies, debris and destruction at every corner, the people in a constant state of fear. The Avengers try with all their power to take care of the situation but just barely, and he sees how it’ll take them more than a miracle to survive through the situation.

He sees Captain America there, a darting blue of a human being taking down Ultron’s minions, his shield wielded on his arm. He fights and charges and swings that oversized bullseye of a frisbee with vengeance; when the camera zooms into his face, Bucky’s able to see soot on his cheek and how determination exists in the fierce line of his brows.

Bucky’s seen that look before, has seen it up close that he’s able to touch it, and it hasn’t changed so much as it did almost eighty years ago. It makes something in his chest reach for him.

“Need a refill, hun?”

Bucky looks over at the waitress who’s holding a coffee pot in hand, her eyes even as she patiently waits for his answer while he prevents himself from pushing back into his chair.

“Sure,” he says, and she pours it full for him. 

“It’s awful, doncha think?” She hums, straightening herself up to face the TV on top of their heads, one hand clutched on her waist. “What’s happening to those people? I mean, what the hell are those Avengers even doin’ if the whole thing’s still crumblin’ down like mama’s pie?” She lets out a _ tsk_, before looking down at him again. “You need anything to eat with that?”

_ Pie_. He remembers Steve not particularly loving apple pie, contrary to popular belief, but he’s not downright against it either. Steve’s a monster for chocolate muffins though, especially those that have large chocolate chips on them.

“No,” he replies, before quickly adding, “Thanks.”

“Y’sure, hun? ‘Cause you and your notebook have been here since we opened and this is your third cup of coffee. You could try some of our eggs and bacon along with a stack of pancakes? I feel like you’re that kinda guy to order that.”

Maybe, he did order those sort of things, _ would _ have those things once he gets used to eating in large amounts again. He forgets people can get nosy too, especially those who think they'll be able to assess what he does in life with a single look. It makes him ansty, being under her expectant stare. He only shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

She shrugs. “Alright, if you say so. But, just call me up if you wanna, okay? I’ll serve it up in a flash.”

Bucky nods, unable to say anything else before she leaves him alone. Letting out a quiet breath, he flips open his notebook to the page he bookmarks with his finger and writes down about pies and muffins.

He’s filled a couple of them, page to page, and they sit in the cabinet with more empty notebooks he’ll be using soon. Memories come almost swimmingly now that he writes them all down on paper, but he’s also avoiding the chance of someone finding them and going through them. It’s enough that he has this for himself now, something he’d like to call _ his_, and he’s in no mood to share them with anyone else.

Those pages aren’t always filled with his handwriting; sometimes there are pictures he cuts from a magazine — it’s Steve or the Black Widow or even the Falcon where those ridiculous tabloids love to start speculation that only makes him snort in disbelief. He’ll only take their pictures though, he isn’t interested in how they keep saying the Widow is actually an Avenger just because she felt left out. Bucky thinks she’ll murder the author if she ever reads through the article.

Sometimes he sticks on his newfound love for things, like that candy wrapper he glued on the paper. He jots down how chewy it is and how grapes and strawberries are the best flavours as opposed to the oranges and lemons. His notebooks end up all bulky and big but he doesn’t mind. That just shows progress.

There are times he fills it with drawings. They’re hardly as extraordinary as all those painters and not as good as Steve’s, but Bucky doodles. One day, it’s a detailed drawing of this cat he finds sleeping on the stairs to the apartment. Another consists of a stick figure with a metal arm in a rectangular box. The self-portrait is amusing on good days, to say the least.

What he loves most are the dried leaves or flowers he finds at the nearby park, how he presses them in between pages. It’s actually a half an hour walk, but he goes there to lie down for hours under a tree he’s dubbed as his with his cap pulled low. He’ll use his backpack as his pillow as he writes and doodles and takes a nap with an ear out for anything. It’s soothing when he wants it to be. There are days when he’s too pent up to leave his place that it eats him on the inside out until he ends up doing his workout regimen for hours to end.

It isn’t healthy, he knows he’s far from full recovery, but he _ tries _ and sometimes it still hurts whenever he thinks of the things he’s lost. It makes breathing difficult, and it reminds him of the way he’d gently rubbed Steve’s heaving chest whenever he has his asthma attacks, asking him to take in a deep breath with him.

Bucky writes and writes until the hours go by and he’ll have to buy more pens when the ones he’s been holding onto runs out.

* * *

There are other memories.

Bucky contemplates on writing them down, but he pushes the thought away so far to the back of his mind he hopes he doesn’t see it again at any time.

It isn’t a secret of what he and Steve once shared back then. One morning, when Bucky’s been busy trying to assemble his own breakfast for the first time that doesn’t include a box of cereal or an apple, the sound of the sizzling butter flings him back to the time when he cooks for the both of them in their old apartment. He remembers the expression on Steve’s face when he shuffles in from their bedroom, how adoration sings from that look it brings Bucky back to his current timeline.

It makes the air above his shoulders crackle and his butter burnt brown, but Bucky realises where Steve’s devotion comes from, and it still burns bright in how he’s been eagerly following the fake trails Bucky leaves all over the globe. He knows they’ve had _ something_.

They aren’t _ lovers_. At least, not to Steve. Not when the sentence ‘not having strings attached’ keeps blaring in Bucky’s mind that it’s almost poison. But, whatever they have, _ had, _is close enough for Bucky to feel a wave of anguish crashing onto the cages of ribs. Hands shaking, he switches off the stove before chucking the pan into the sink. It’s crawling back into his nest of a blanket and begging for those memories to fade away.

But Bucky remembers those touches. He remembers how well he’s treated and how he eager he wants to give back the same. He remembers how earnest those kisses have been when he tastes those lips on his, bow shaped and familiar — how Steve would tug him close to his chest before and after Bucky got enlisted into the war.

It makes him flush when it all comes rushing back. And it hurts him more than he realises it would.

“Stop this,” Bucky whispers into his knuckles, eyes slamming close. “Stop this, please.”

He doesn’t write those down. He refuses to write them down even if they come through. Bucky clenches his teeth and rides on and hopes they don’t come back.

That’s just wishful thinking at that point. The universe is a child curious with how the world it builds and decides to stretch its forces over the lands by turning up a switch.

The warm shower raining on his aching shoulder is a blessing he mutters his thanks for. His arm is a heavy thing that drags onto bones and muscles, with no one professional to look it over, it just aches more whenever the weather gets colder that Bucky usually ignores it until it bothers him too much. Tonight, he can feel the ongoing soreness to his neck, and he lets the almost hot water chase it away.

He tilts his head and lets his fingers run over his hair, washing it through, a small sigh of content breaking past his lips. Clouds of steam waft up and around him, and Bucky feels at peace as he lets himself indulge to this kind of luxury.

He lets his fingers curl around his hair, tugging on them a bit to smooth down the tangles, before another memory leaps into his mind's eye without a warning.

He’s in a tent. Bucky is able to recognise it with how the canvas expands above him, a plain thing to behold but the position in which he finds himself in makes his heart jump. There are fingers buried in his hair and his face is forced to the ceiling. A board chest is pushed to his back and a cock is buried deep inside him from where he’s spread wide open, hips wriggling as if his life depends on it. Bucky moans, trying to reach for the lips kissing up his neck.

Poland. The Howling Commandos have taken camp and have orders to rest. Steve’s tent strays at the far end of the group, somewhere nearer to the trees. A good place for a lookout if he’s able to hear anything bad, Steve assures them lightly. They believed him, of course.

“Buck,” Steve hushes, leaning away from his searching lips. “You gotta keep quiet.”

Steve tugs his hair more at this, where Bucky’s face is tilted up so that the back of his head is pressed to Steve’s shoulder, and Bucky almost sneers at him when he says, “No one’s gonna hear us when we’re at the edge of civilisation.”

“Not when you’re making all that racket,” Steve hums, his other hand pushing one of Bucky’s knees to his chest that the angle has each thrust strike home, and it’s very hard for Bucky to argue when he’s pinned down like this. “Someone’s gonna scout for some strange noises and then they’re gonna find you fucked down by my cock like this. But, I don’t think anyone wants their eyes forked out.”

“Afraid some baby HYDRA is gonna find Captain America dicking down on one of his guys and taint the image of our beloved country more?” Bucky chokes out a laugh, words straining against his throat when Steve has a grip on his hair like he’s some dog to be disciplined. “Maybe you can turn them decent again by letting ‘em watch. It’s not like you hate a show.”

It’s a jab to his earlier carrier, and Steve knows it too. “Oh honey,” Bucky lets out a small noise when Steve presses a thumb behind his ear, his lips brushing against his temple. “You’re not for sharing, remember?”

Steve bites on the meat of shoulder, pulls onto his hair again that Bucky whines, and suddenly he finds himself back in his shower, his dick hard and aching as the phantom of touches still burned into his skin that he’s left shaking from their abrupt absence.

Bucky pushes his back against the cool tiles, shuddering out huge amounts of breath while the steady stream of water pulses against his scalp. It hasn’t escalated this far before. It hasn’t gone so far to the point he can _ feel _ the drag of those fingers, or how his body is taut from the built pressure that he’s threatening to burst at the seams.

Reaching back, Bucky twists the shower knob until cold water drums on his head. He wraps his hand around himself, and there’s no finesse when he only wants to get rid of this need existing underneath his skin — he’s harsh as he jacks off, squeezing and pulling onto the spots that would allow the process to be quick. Before he knows it, he comes through clenched teeth and has his hair in his eyes. Water washes everything off, and he blankly watches it disappear down the drain that he can feel himself start to sink into the hole he’s been trying to avoid.

He doesn’t want that.

He turns off the shower and grabs his towel, giving himself a swift wipe down before he steps out. He doesn’t bother clearing the fogged up mirror when he mechanically brushes his teeth, and then he goes to his bedroom to dress into a t-shirt and sweats before dropping himself on one of the stools at the breakfast counter.

He reaches over and presses play on the radio he’s bought, and loud pop music blasts out of the speakers as he pulls out his notebook nearer to himself. He writes and draws and _ writes_.

Not about what he’s done in the shower. Everything else. Everything else except whatever happened in the shower.

* * *

Avoiding it does not work. Bucky considers this problem a nuisance when he wakes up to morning wood almost everyday now.

There’s no _ indulging _ himself. He lets a small bottle of lube fall into his basket before checking out with the rest of his last grocery shopping but he hasn’t used it. It’s there, still in the plastic bag he’s shoved into the only cabinet in his apartment. He hasn’t looked at it since.

But his memories mixes together with his dreams that Bucky wakes up hornier than is strictly necessary; it has him grumbling about Steve fucking Rogers and his fucking existence bringing nothing but complications ever since Bucky’s been awake long enough to realise whatever he’s done isn’t actually goddamn normal. Steve hasn’t only made Bucky realise HYDRA’s been using him as an attempt to flip the world to their feet, but also how he catches himself daydreaming about sitting on that God-given jaw of his too.

Bucky realises he has the hormones of a growing teenager again and it isn’t exactly a fucking blast to his road of recovery.

Bucky might curse Steve Roger’s name into the existence, but jerking off to the memory of how he's able to eat Bucky out while he _ stands _ as Bucky himself holds onto the wall pressed to his back isn’t helping. It’s causing his dignity as the ghost of the century to be smeared to the ground.

He’s confused and strung. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

It’s a Sunday, which means the day isn’t as interesting as Bucky would like as he listens to whatever dull news his radio has to offer while he’s on his mattress, back resting against the wall, window opened above his head to let the stuffiness out. His notebook is opened on his lap, where he’s taping his latest flower collection onto a page.

It’s nice, but his mind wanders to forbidden territory of what his past self has done, gallivanting with Steve whenever they can because they’re young and decidedly stupid when it comes to their safety but of course, they don’t care. 

Bucky may have his fair share of wanting to jump on his bones, but Steve’s the one who always pulls him into dark corners and kissing him stupid that it absolutely takes his breath away, as cheesy as it sounds. His kisses are long and hard and Steve loves rucking up his shirt to touch him wherever he can, and Bucky can’t help but hang on as he kisses him back with his hands clutching onto his suit.

Steve would lean back, the rings of his eyes swallowed black that Bucky can’t resist the need to press his thumb onto those swollen lips, studying him under whatever remaining street light that stretches towards him. It’ll make Steve kiss it, flirtatious under his long lashes, and Bucky’s only mortal after all. He doesn’t resist the need to kiss him again to drown the smirk growing at the corners of his mouth.

Bucky lets his pen lean against the edges of his book. He spreads his fingers against the smooth page, flexing them minutely.

The new found strength Steve carries within the breadth of his shoulders has him moving Bucky around to his heart’s content. It’s pulling him to his lap, having his large hand pushed in between his shoulder blades that once has Bucky biting his lip until skin breaks. There’s a _ thrill _ in how Steve’s able to carry him off the ground effortlessly, how Bucky’s able to put his absolute trust onto the man when he’s desperate with need too.

And the filthy things Steve’s able to conjure from his mouth would make anyone walking past flush red as a fire truck.

Bucky tentatively thumbs against the band of his sweats, shirt slighted up when he lets his fingers sail fleetingly over his skin. He can almost feel another hand joining him on his hip, his palm swallowing his hip bone; Bucky thinks of the time he straddles Steve on the mattress of some inn they’re resting in, on their own mattress back at their old home, and Bucky swallows dryly when his fingers slip past the band.

He wraps his hand around himself, circling around the base loosely. The notebook is pushed off his lap and onto the mattress. Bucky closes his eyes.

_ Steve’s looking at him as if he wants to ravish him on the spot but he doesn’t do so as he simply doesn’t move, not when he’s under orders not to. Bucky smirks at him, leaning back to hold onto those thighs as he rises and drops his hips, taking in Steve’s dick as it slides in and out of his entrance with the pace he’s set for the both of them. _

_ He rolls his hips and slams down, and Steve grips harder onto him when a groan escapes free, his head thrown back._

Bucky groans softly with him, his hand moving along the length of his own dick with the same pace.

_ “Jesus, you’re something else,” Steve says with a small laugh, his hands sliding down his thighs before they rest on his knees, squeezing lightly. “Sure know how to treat a guy.” _

_ “One of my best qualities, yeah,” Bucky hums, straightening himself until he smooths down on Steve’s abdomen, before tangling those hands with his. “Gotta give my pal the best.” _

_ Something gleams wicked in those eyes, and Bucky doesn’t stand a chance before he’s tugged forward and sprawled unceremoniously across the length of his body, yelping in surprise when his chin almost bumps Steve in the nose. _

_ “Hey!” Bucky flusters, making Steve let out a full blown laugh when Bucky struggles against his grip. He lets out a huff. “Real funny, big guy. Now, lemme go.” _

_ “Don’t think I will,” Steve grins, reaching up to nip his chin. “You never said anythin’ ‘bout _ you _ moving, so I’m taking you down a notch.” _

_ “You think you’re real clever, Rogers?” Bucky drawls, before inhaling sharply through his teeth when Steve unexpectedly thrusts up, dick buried far and deep. _

_ “S’why we got ourselves in this agreement in the first place,” Steve rumbles, and the two-day-old stubble he hasn’t yet shaved drags against Bucky’s neck and leaves his skin prickling after its path. “The inn’s a nice place and we deserve it, after the shitton of misery we all went through for the past few months in the field.” _

_ “You do that. But really, on an overall scale? Sweetheart, if it wasn’t for my idea, we wouldn’t even be here in the first place.” _

_ Bucky slams down his ass again at this, and Steve almost releases his grip when he wheezes out a breath. Bucky pushes their connected hands to his chest, his face hovering just above Steve’s as he rides on the same pace before being interrupted — the girth of his dick drags against his walls that it takes a lot of restraint for Bucky to have his control clenched in his fist, to maintain it that way and not let Steve take over for once. _

_ “We wouldn’t be here,” he continues, watching how Steve tries to reign in himself too. “If I wasn’t sitting on your cock and let it stuff me full. ‘Cause that’s exactly what you want to do to me if you’d see me goin’ down on some guy, and _ that _ is not what you want, huh?” _

_ Bucky changes his angle and goes on him hard enough to make both of them moan. Steve chuckles breathlessly. “Is that what you thought when you watched me and Robert? You wanted me to fuck you instead?” _

_ Bucky tilts his head, something bubbling in his chest at being caught. “Is that what you think?” _

_ “I just know,” Steve says flippantly, and it makes his stomach swoop down when Bucky watches the way he mockingly arches his eyebrows, as if to patronise him. “You were the one who watched me, Bucky. I say you’ve been wanting me to shove your face down for a while when I spread your ass open but you’ve been hidin’ it away instead.” _

_ Bucky almost shudders when something cool zips down his spine but he wets his dry lips instead, and Steve doesn’t hide the blatant way he watches. “Really.” _

_ Bucky curses to himself when it falls flat and not as cloyingly as he would’ve wanted. Steve hums. “Sure.” Then, he raises his head that it’s just enough for his lips to brush against the edge of his jaw, soft as a feather. “Honestly honey? Deep down, you’re just a slut for my cock.” _

_ When Steve plants his feet against the mattress and slams his hips up, Bucky doesn’t stop the keen from breaking past his lips, where he tumbles down to his chest that Steve doesn’t touch him other than grinding his dick deep into him. Bucky groans against his collarbone, wriggling down to meet his advances half-way. _

_ “You can’t even ride on my cock properly,” Steve rumbles, detangling their hands to squeeze on his ass instead, almost bringing his cheeks together that each drag of his thrust can be felt more. “Too far gone for me, baby?” _

Bucky remembers this; fucking hell, he remembers how the room they’ve shared could’ve light up the whole damn city from how charged it is. It’s a miracle they haven’t killed each other with it yet, but they’re always so insufferable when it comes to each other.

He pumps his fingers up and down his length, trying to get enough friction to match how his skin feels like it’s going to pop. He can hardly feel the breeze blowing into his apartment when he remembers and half of his mind is distracted by the things he’s done with Steve before.

Bucky uses his other hand to scratch his way up his chest until his presses against his hard nipple. He groans softly, rolling them between his fingers when his legs widen instinctively.

_ “In your goddamn dreams,” Bucky growls, biting down on his peck before dragging his mouth up and up until he steals a hard kiss from him — as if he wants to take all of Steve and keeps him inside Bucky. “You’re a menace, Steve, for fuck’s sake.” _

_ “But you’re not exactly denying it, either.” Steve smiles against his mouth, and Bucky bites onto that too just fucking because. “I gotta know though, Buck. Did I hit a tender spot?” _

_ “Shut up,” Bucky snarls, kissing him again as he thrusts down onto his dick that he swallows all the curses Steve lets out. _

_ Bucky pushes himself up and rides him in earnest, bouncing up and down with something akin to spite and desperation because Steve still looks like a cat with a goddamn bowl of cream, utterly smug and beautiful and Bucky’s all a mess because he lets him get under his skin. And it’s fucking wonderful because he wants it and he wants _him.

_ “You’re gorgeous,” Steve murmurs, hands wandering until they reach his chest and uses his thumbs to flick against Bucky’s nipples.“You have no idea how pretty you look bouncing on my cock like this. I’m gonna take you for myself once we’re done and you’re not gonna walk anywhere for a while.” _

_ Bucky groans, uses Steve’s dick to grind himself against his prostate and it’s almost too much; sweat trails down his back as Bucky uses Steve to chase his own pleasure, needy and wanting. Steve doesn’t mind, keeps murmuring honeyed assurances before he’s sliding his hands down to wrap his fingers around him. _

Bucky exhales out a shudder when he almost feels the extra weight around his dick, back curving off the wall when he squeezes the head. He realises he’s panting, forehead drenched from where strands of hair stick against his skin and he’s _ burning_, almost too hot to touch that he should’ve taken off his clothes.

The pressure builds deep in his gut and tingles on the base of his spine from how long he’s been sitting like that, jerking himself off to the memory of the man taking residence inside his heart.

_ “Steve,” Bucky gasps when Steve runs his thumb up the curve of his dick, smearing precum across the head in almost a nonchalant way, as if he’s flicking a crumb off his shirt and it’s making Bucky lose his mind. “I’m close. Steve, please.” _

_ “You gotta finish what you started,” Steve says, smiling when Bucky groans. “Your rules, Buck. Not mine.” _

_ “What, now you’re listening to me?” Bucky demands, almost wheezes out when Steve uses the heel of his palm to press his dick against his abdomen and simply lets it rest there. “_Fuck_, Steve.” _

_ “C’mon, it’s not like you haven’t taken anything more,” Steve taunts, teasing him with a roll of his hips that makes Bucky see white flashing in front of his eyes when his dick prods against his prostate again. “I know you wanna come, so try harder.” _

_ “I _ am,” _ Bucky pants. He’s almost shaking; he _ needs _ and _ wants _ and he’s so close in getting them both. “Fuck you, I _ am _ trying. What do you think I’ve been doing?” _

_ “Slacking,” Steve drags his fingers down again until he uses them to roll his balls, causing Bucky to cry out as he arches his back, clenching around Steve that he moans with his teeth buried into his bottom lip, pumping onto Bucky’s dick with two quick strokes— _

Bucky looks down at the mess he’s made, slumped against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. 

That’s the same memory that resurfaced that night. He wakes up with the worst boner in his life that morning, and now, he finally handles it properly.

There’s a box of tissues he reaches for beside his mattress, wiping his spunk off his hand before he’s kicking off his jeans with his feet. It’s getting up and making his way towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, _ fuck_.

Reacting to these things is going to fucking kill him soon, he realises, staring himself into the mirror that the hollowed look of his reflection refuses to look away. He can’t see Steve, Bucky doesn’t know if he really wants to meet him when Steve finally realises Bucky’s been leading him on a wild goose chase. There’s a high chance he’ll bolt if Steve ever finally manages to catch up on him.

It’s why he feels like crap when he’s jacking off to the memory of what they’ve done.

Bucky reaches forward and twists the knob until water rushes through. He cups his palms under the nozzle and splashes his face with cold water in hopes he’ll wake up from this horrible place he’s put himself in.

When he brings down his hands, his reflection follows his every move.


	4. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky holds his look through his reflection. “I wasn’t sure how long they used the concept of you before they realised it wasn’t going to work for long term. But they reported my performance in the 70’s was when I was at my peak. Which was why appointing me as a teacher for the Red Room for the next decade was a bonus.”
> 
> The longer he talks, the tighter those shoulders get. “What did they do, Buck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober was over around like, 5 days ago but what I’ve done with this chapter will make you forgive me I think. But in my defence, I have assignments and presentations due that I’ve buried myself in them like an ostrich so, I’m sorry for the late chapter.
> 
> This chapter includes emotional manipulation and gas-lighting in regards to Bucky’s past as the Winter Soldier. Just something to look out for in case they’re not your thing.
> 
> I hope you’ll be able to enjoy this! And one more chapter to go!
> 
> 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟐 — 𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠  
𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟒 — 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠  
𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟓 — 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐱

“They used you.”

_ There’s a certain way to how the day goes; intuition says there’s a reason why lightning crackles up the length of his nape. There’s a reason why, despite his hardest to find out what it is, there are terrible looking machines looming above his head, vicious steel glaring underneath the white light, new and sterile. He only takes a second to sweep it all in and decides it’s a threat, his body automatically tensing as he climbs up the small flight of stairs and stops. _

_ He turns around and faces the room. _

_ The Soldier stands beside it because he has orders to not move until he’s told to. Three armed soldiers stand in front of him, trained into indifference as they stare, and the room reeks of iron that the Soldier’s able to taste it at the back of his tongue. A puddle of water pools under his feet, hair clumping together as strands of them hang in front of his eyes. _

_ The chill still resonates inside his bones and clings onto his breath, but his spine is straight and his hands hang almost stupidly by his sides. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. He knows more what his handler needs from him than he does knowing why there’s a gaping crater taking residence in his brain. _

_ He ducks his head and takes in his toe-steel boots. It isn’t a second passes when the buzzer blares loudly above the door. _

Steve slowly lowers his arms, his suit still tangled around his elbows as he takes in what Bucky says. Every bruise stands out under the warm lamp light from beside the bed, raw and dried and Bucky stares into those cautious eyes in order to avoid what each scratch represents. “In what way?”

The safe house Bucky owns has one bedroom and a bathroom connected by door. The kitchen doesn’t really deserve the title when it’s smaller, just enough for two people to squeeze in, but equipped with a gas stove, a sink, and a kettle. Paper plates and two mugs sit in the cabinet. Plastic cutlery in the drawer. The living room has the oldest heater to probably exist, with a double seater sofa facing the empty wall while a small coffee table accompanies it. 

The bedroom has a queen bed, a lamp, and an ancient wardrobe that looks as if a breeze could topple it down. The window behind Steve is boarded shut. Bucky remembers doing that in the middle of the night.

He shifts in place; the yawning space on his left is almost a relief as much as it hurts him. Another part of him snatched away just like that.

Bucky knows he should get out of his dirty clothes and take a shower, but the day’s events fully sink into his shoulders that he slouches underneath its heaving weight. It scares him, in how the world is able to bend under someone else’s insolence, under someone else’s selfish demands. It scares him how the slightest tweak and everyone would be grovelling to someone’s feet and licking dirt off their shoes.

Bucky knows he used to do that; it’s having someone’s hand pushing his face into the ground until he compiles — it leaves his insides churning with how he’s able to do it without question. Without resistance.

Bucky can still feel the layer of blood caked above his upper lip. The damp face towel he holds is chilly in his fingers, and he simply holds it in his hand. “In so many ways. I wasn’t able to keep up. They only used you whenever they decided I was too much of a liability to deal with that time. It—“ He rubs his thumb against it, feels how some water seeps out. “It worked.”

It’s almost too much to bear, with the way silence takes over their conversation that Bucky feels it crawling all over his skin. It’s then he brings up his arm and starts wiping down the blood, almost mindless as he drags the cloth against his face to make himself busy, looking away from the man who’s done too many things in his name.

“Tell me.” Steve says. When Bucky looks up, the dimming leftovers of his rage rises again in his eyes, but it’s not aimed towards him. Steve’s not done just yet and it hums around the space between them. “Tell me what they did to you.”

_ The buzzer would’ve hurt his ears and the Soldier wouldn’t even notice. He has his eyes on the people stepping into the room instead and it takes another couple of seconds to see how they’re all armed to the teeth. Their armour is padded with bullet proof vests and the helmets on their heads cover their eyes. _

_ What catches the Soldier’s attention is the men behind these doll soldiers; people from above, some would call them, soldiers on their own but with fancy golden badges on their chests and proud stripes on their shoulders. They’re better, the masters above the strings who control all, and they’ve come for the Soldier again. _

_ He thinks he’s done something wrong then; he’s done what he’s asked. Everything has been executed flawlessly. The Soldier doesn’t understand why they’re here but the pounding of his heart tells him that he should be ready. _

_ Be ready. That’s all he should be. _

_ But his handler isn’t alone. There are new people the Soldier doesn’t recognise walk among them as if they’re gods themselves. He warily watches how the three soldiers give them space as the new people and his handler now stand in front of him, the air turning rancid with their presence alone. _

_ There are two people who came to visit him that day. A woman with curious eyes, taking him as if he’s a rat to be criticised in a lab and that’s just the way it is, isn’t it? The Soldier finds it in himself to stay still under her gaze, preventing himself from tilting his chin up. _

_ The Soldier lets his eyes flicker towards her companion, and something cold drips down his spine when he sees how sharp those blue eyes are. _

Bucky lets his hand rest on his knee. “Steve.”

“Tell me.” Steve takes a step and stops, his jaw rolling with barely restrained fury, his tone too eerily calm. “I need to know what they did to you.”

Bucky sighs, wiping the last of the mess. He gets up and makes his way towards the bathroom to rinse the cloth, the tap squeaking when he twists it. “I only realised what had happened when the memories started coming back. I even had it written, all of what I knew, if you wanna read them.” 

He watches how red runs down the curve of the white sink, squeezing out excess water and making sure it’s relatively bloodless before throwing it over the towel rack above the toilet bowl. When Bucky looks into the mirror, Steve’s still waiting for an answer from where he stands at the end of the bed, shoulders strung and bare. Bucky holds his look through his reflection. “I wasn’t sure how long they used the concept of you before they realised it wasn’t going to work for long term. But they reported my performance in the 70’s was when I was at my peak. Which was why appointing me as a teacher for the Red Room for the next decade was a bonus.”

The longer he talks, the tighter those shoulders get. “What did they do, Buck?” 

_ Something cold stabs needles down the length of his spine when those blue eyes assess him like an experiment through the bars. He’s younger than the Soldier’s handler, sees how strength exists in his arms from where he folds his hands behind his back. _

_ His hair is gold, shines bright under the harsh lights above their heads. The Soldier finds himself to look for some sort of glow he thinks should exist, but there’s nothing; the man with golden hair in front of him doesn’t have what the Soldier looks for and that confuses him more than it should. _

_ He tries to look for— familiarity? Something he knows he would see when the person his mind supplies would have. But there’s nothing, the twinkle he would’ve seen should exist in the man standing in front of him and the Soldier doubts; isn’t he the man who haunts his dreams? Isn’t he the man who makes the Soldier yearn for a time he _ knows _ doesn’t exist? _

_ The man with the golden hair, the dazzling smile. And the man standing in front of him is handsome, yes, with a sharp jaw anyone would want to run their fingers with, but he isn’t— _

_ He _ isn’t, _ and that’s the problem, something inside the Soldier is telling him that this man isn’t _ him. _ This man isn’t the ghost murmuring assurances when he’s alone with his thoughts, touching his cheeks with gentle hands to get his attention, and it makes frustration slither around in his chest. _

_ His handler orders him to sit on the chair behind him and he does without saying a word. _

_ The man with the golden hair only watches quietly, following his every move, and the Soldier only stares back. _

_ “I see it’s already working,” his handler says, looking between the both of them, fascinated. “I was expecting some sort of intervention would take place, but it seems as if we don’t need any of that.” _

_ The man smiles charmingly, addressing his handler. “I’m honoured my services were needed for this project.” _

_ His handler chuckles, a grating sound. “It’s a shame your Commander isn’t able to see this, Captain. I was hoping he’d be able to see the results for himself, knowing how this is his idea.” _

_ The man nods, humble with those words. “I’ll report anything he needs to know and what should be done next. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear that the Asset is spontaneous in response too.” _

_ The Soldier searches his face, looking for what his chest constricts for when all he sees is how there’s something off about the man he thinks he knows. Even if his title has something dim sparking in his sternum. _

_ “You’d like to talk to him, Captain?” His handler says, nodding towards the Soldier’s way. _

_ The man gives out a contemplative noise. “Is now the right time?” _

_ His handler laughs. “As good as it gets. He’s docile now, just out of the cryogenic tube. He wouldn’t kill you.” _

_ “Perhaps.” _

_ The Soldier stays still when the man steps forward and climbs up the stairs, before he stands by the Soldier’s right, near enough that he has to tilt his head to meet his eyes. The man considers something for a second, before he drops to his knees, surprising the men around them when they straighten their backs. _

_ But the Soldier has his eyes on this man alone. This man with his golden hair and blue, blue eyes. And the warmth he searches for doesn’t exist. _

_ “Do you know me?” The man asks in a soft tone, far too quiet for the rest to hear but easily enough for the Soldier’s enhanced hearing to catch. The green suit stretches across the man’s shoulders, and the Soldier finds himself staring at the badges on his chest. This man is American. This man is a Captain. This man is talking to him with his knees on the ground. _

_ The Soldier lifts his head, parts his lips. “Steve?” _

Bucky turns around then, leaning against the edge of the sink because god knows how he’s even standing right then after the beating he got. Stark didn’t pull his punches, and Bucky doesn’t blame him. “When Pierce was younger, he and some people decided to make his youth a weapon, because someone pointed out how he looked like you. You two had the same face shape, the same hair and eye colour, and almost the same height. They said it was an opportunity they couldn’t miss.”

Steve was clutching onto his suit now, jaw set. “Pierce used my face to get you to comply?”

“Like a dog exposing his belly.” Bucky wraps his arm around himself, seeking comfort. “Without question, whatever he wanted me to do, I’d do it. They made sure I wasn’t looking too closely into his face and,” he stops, wetting his dry lips. “I felt like an idiot when I knew deep down he wasn’t really you. But I couldn’t stop, up until he was promoted and they wiped you two off my mind altogether.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath. “What did Pierce do?”

Something thick rolls in Bucky’s throat. “All he had to do was to tell me I matter. I didn’t question anything else.”

“Did he touch you?” Steve almost demands, the end of his sentence shaking.

Bucky chokes out a laugh. “He wasn’t that committed to the role.”

The barely contained rage exists in how Steve slowly folds his suit and sets it on the bed. It’s watching the way he ducks his head down as his fists the bare mattress beside it, saying nothing. Bucky gives him time to compose himself, turning around to splash his face with cold water.

He runs his hand under his jaw to the edge of his collar, preventing him from touching his neck any further. He tugs onto the button and tries to zip it down, snapping his head up to see Steve has squeezed himself into the tiny bathroom to stand beside him. He looks like a wrack under the bathroom light, and Bucky knows how he isn’t any better either. “Can I?”

Bucky nods, letting his hand drop when Steve pulls down the zipper, the sound bouncing off the tiles. Bucky swallows down the shudder when the chill of the space catches onto his back, Steve’s warm fingers bumping into his skin as they carefully retract his jacket and shirt to avoid contact with his left side. Wires stick out menacingly while Steve takes a look at it. “I’m assuming you have first aid kit here?”

“Under the bed,” Bucky replies, and Steve doesn’t hesitate to take it before he walks back into the bathroom.

He sets aside the white box at the edge of the bathtub, nodding towards the closed toilet bowl. “I’ll help you trim some of it off and wrap it with a bandage for now, it’ll be easier for you to shower later.”

Bucky follows as he’s told, and he realises this is why he’s getting praise from HYDRA for murdering people.

But he’s Steve, the _ real _ Steve. He isn’t an imposter who wears his face and uses what power he has on Bucky. Bucky can trust him, he knows this when the things Steve has committed these past few weeks — have the title people look up to for stripped from him and instead branded him as a criminal. Bucky knows he’s in safe hands.

Steve plucks the earlier face towel from the rack and wets it under running water, wringing some out, before he sits on the lip of the tub. He holds Bucky’s look for a while. “I’m gonna wipe near your shoulder area before wrapping the bandage over it. I’m gonna touch you, alright?”

Bucky gives him a half shrug. “You know you can touch me.”

Steve briefly purses his lips, before he starts running the towel across his skin. Bucky stays still, lets the too quiet bathroom buzz in his ears when Steve starts clipping some of the exposed wires off with the scissors from the kit, lifting his head once in a while to gauge his reaction.

Once the exposed socket is covered, Steve collects the stray wires and stands up to put them away. Bucky slouches from where his elbow digs into his knee, staring at how his hand hangs lifelessly in front of him.

_ “Soldier,” the man with golden hair says, sitting near where the Soldier’s been cuffed into the chair. There’s something wrong with the word the man calls him with; he knows countless others have called him the same thing, but coming from this man, the soldier can’t pinpoint why it shouldn’t be said like that. “How are you?” _

_ The Soldier doesn’t answer, his chest still heaving after he’s resurfaced from what pain he’s been submerged in. Strands of hair stick to his cheek, and he slumps against what restraints he’s been put in. _

_ “Soldier, I need you to look at me.” _

_ He swallows dryly, throat scratchy from screaming so much, and lifts his head. _

_ Blue eyes take him in, small wrinkles at the corners now making an appearance after two decades as his new handler, and the minute nod he gives expresses his satisfaction. “There you go, I can see you now,” The man gives him a smile. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Much better now, in fact.” _

_ The Soldier doesn’t speak, and the man continues, “You were given a mission to train the Red Room to their finest, and you did a good job. People admire what work you’ve done when you created the most elite spies to exist, making this world a better place already.” The man leans on his knees. “But, I received a report five hours ago that you abandoned your pupil, Soldier. Care to explain why that is?” _

_ The warmth in his tone felt misplaced and the Soldier can feel it drill into his bones. It’s heavy and wrong and the Soldier has the violent urge to scratch his skin off with his fingers. _

_ “Soldier,” The man says patiently. “I need to understand why you did that.” _

_ The Soldier rolls his shoulders. “Natalia knows her orders.” _

_ “And you were supposed to know yours.” The man searches his face. “Were you abandoning us?” Then, he softens his look. “Were you abandoning me?” _

_ The Soldier finds himself shaking his head. “No,” he lets out. “I wouldn’t, not you. Not again.” _

“Bucky?”

He blinks, and Steve’s back on the tub with his brows furrowed worriedly. “You okay?”

Bucky straightens up, feels how his body protests at the movement. “Just thinking.”

Steve seems to know exactly what it was and anger comes rushing in with the way he curls his fingers into his fists, looking away to direct the emotion from him. “I wish I could kill him myself. After everything he did to you,” he trails off, shaking his head. “But Fury did the job already.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Bucky says, watches how Steve lifts his head to face him properly. “When I found out, I was angry at whatever stupid bullshit I’ve gotten into and how I wasn’t able to do anything about it, and how I just let them use you like that.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck,” Steve starts, and Bucky shakes his head.

“I should’ve done something sooner when I managed to realise what’s happening long enough to escape. But I couldn’t even do that right when they caught me again.”

There’s something painful growing in those eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting you,” Steve vows quietly, and his hand is on his cheek, thumb brushing against his jutting bone that Bucky finds himself leaning into the touch more without an ounce of shame. “I’m so sorry they used my face and influence to get to you. I swear, once this is all over, I’m taking down every HYDRA facility I can find and makes sure it stays dead this time.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bucky murmurs. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“And you can’t blame yourself for what you had no control over,” Steve tells him, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear that Bucky suddenly realises how filthy he really is. “You were never at fault, Buck. You have to understand this.”

“That’s not what the court would say when they get their hands on me,” Bucky mutters, eyes flitting away.

Warm hands cup his face and tilts it towards Steve’s determined look. “I won’t let them touch you. They _ can’t _ touch you.”

“At one point, they will. We can’t run forever.”

“We can,” Steve insists, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s until he closes his eyes. “We’ll move if they find us here. We’ll move if they find us at our new place. We’ll move around the world, maybe we’ll go to places we used to dream of going. But they’ll _ never _ touch you when I’m here. I’m gonna make sure of that.”

Bucky holds onto his wrist, wariness deep in his core. “You can’t promise those kind of things, Steve. Not when seventy years worth of death’s bearing on you like a damn bogeyman.”

“Bucky, please.” Bucky doesn’t know when they move, but he’s tilting over the edge of the lid until his knees slot themselves between Steve’s, where the man himself is meeting him halfway. “I don’t wanna lose you again.”

“With our line of work, something’s bound to happen, pal.” Bucky says, leaning back until the hand rests on his neck instead. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not worth all this mess after everything I did. They won’t be willing to see what you’re seeing now.”

“I can prove it to them,” Steve insists. “They wouldn’t have any choice but to believe me when it’s all bein’ spread out for everyone to see. You’ll get your pardon, be a free man. I want that for you.”

“But running around the globe ain’t it.” Bucky sighs, lets the thumb strokes soothingly under his ear.

The only way for everyone to realise that Bucky has been used against his will is to give himself in first. But the wounds are still fresh and they have to keep running for now. _ Not yet, _he thinks to himself. _ Not yet. _

They’ll stay down, take up another identity. Maybe they’ll find some peace along the way; god knows how much they need it.

Bucky curls his fingers into Steve’s. “Shower with me.”

His eyes soften. “Of course, Buck.”

They stand, Steve reaching behind him to push the door closed while Bucky twists the shower knob that water sputters out. He adjusts the temperature until it’s warm enough for it to be hot, sees the way Steve is already undressing himself at the corner of his eye before Bucky does the same. 

Steve steps into the bathtub first before he helps Bucky in, a hand hovering between his shoulder blades while the other clasps onto his palm. Steve holds tight and sure, as if he’s afraid Bucky would be taken from him again.

Bucky pulls the curtain shut. He doesn’t blame him too.

The stream of water hits Steve first, eyes downcast when Bucky lets his hand sail across the length of his collarbone to make sure he’s thoroughly wet, sometimes uses his thumb to rub off a stubborn spot of black soot that sticks on his bicep. Bucky starts to reach for the still wrapped block of soap he’s kept there for emergencies when Steve stirs them sideways until the rain of water hits Bucky’s right. Bucky tries to meet his eyes, but Steve’s just intent on making sure his bandage doesn’t get wet.

Bucky doesn’t know what to do with this, it makes him take a very small breath when Steve reaches forward to tilt his head and rinses his hair. He’s gentle, fingers carding through the tangles, digits firm against his scalp as they drag to the base of his skull. Bucky finds his eyelids heavy, simply enjoying the sensation; it’s getting rid of his frazzled nerves, how he feels as if he’s just a click away from turning tail, when Steve flickers his gaze to meet his.

Bucky recognises those eyes, really knows them now. He realises they have never been the same with the ones that controlled him back then; he can never forgive himself for even making such a mistake when he _ knows _ Steve.

This is the man Bucky knows inside out. This is the man who has too much pride in accepting help from anyone else unless push comes to shove. This is the man who’s never really good at taking orders when it goes against everything he believes in.

And to think he believes in Bucky already makes the familiar swell of burning affection consume him readily. 

Steve lowers his gaze to the soap Bucky holds up and takes it from his fingers to unwrap it, the wrapper put aside by the sink.

It’s letting Steve slather the soap across his shoulders, dragging his fingers to his wrist and down the length of his back, the gesture soft and languid as Bucky shifts along with him. Steve lowers himself down to soap his thighs, his ankles, and Bucky takes another deeper breath when Steve rises up again.

“Your turn,” Bucky murmurs, and does the same therapeutic experience but with one hand.

It’s rinsing off together, letting the suds trail into the drain as Bucky spreads his hand across Steve’s chest; it’s feeling the rise and fall in each breath, the warmth that seeps out from his skin after standing under the water longer than they should. It’s simply touching him, letting his mind know that _ this _ is real, _ this _ exists.

Steve has both hands on his back, almost subconsciously letting them drift to his waist before moving it up again, as if he’s trying to convince himself that Bucky’s there too.

Bucky touches his jaw, pulling his attention from where Steve’s been a thousand miles away with a blink, turning his look to Bucky instead. 

“There you are,” he says quietly.

Steve gives him an apologetic smile, covering his hand with his and turning his face into his touch, kissing the inside of his palm. “I’m sorry.”

“Need to stop saying that,” Bucky mutters. “At least, for the next twenty-four hours. How’s that sound?”

Steve brings his hand to his chest. “Twenty-four, and then I’m off the hook. This better be a vice versa kinda thing.”

Bucky watches the way those fingers cover his. “Fair enough.”

He reaches up again, thumb sails above the cut on his cheek, and it’s going to be green and ugly once they step out of the bathroom. Despite the protests Bucky knows he’ll get, he’s going to treat every single cut and bruise he can find, make sure they’re properly looked into. 

It’s—

It’s something to do, something to _ feel, _and Bucky needs that. He needs it when his body hums with the familiar feeling of _ them _ again, of being able to touch and to have each other under every slide of their palms that he knows should not be a good idea. But he wants, and he needs, and from how understanding sinks in that stare, Steve knows it too.

So Bucky pulls him down to kiss him, and it’s soft and sweet and it’s completely different from their first all those decades ago that Bucky can’t help the shuddering breath he releases.

Steve makes sure he only presses his lips to Bucky’s with almost feathery touches that it doesn’t match the growing sensation of a thousand ant feet that’s beginning to climb up his spine. Bucky lets out another small breath, before he presses firm into those lips and asks what he wants with that alone.

There’s no doubt that Steve picks up the hint but he’s more intent on keeping it slow, evening the kiss with long, slow drags of his mouth against Bucky’s and it shouldn’t frustrate him so much; they’ve been running around long enough, going fast, trying to hide from sufferable misunderstandings. Perhaps, something like this will do good to them when he’s basically under the showers with the love of his life.

But they’ve never done something as tender as this before. And Bucky’s afraid of changing that now, not when he’s more familiar with stinging words and teeth.

He digs his fingers into Steve’s arm. “Steve,” he murmurs against his lips. “Steve.”

Steve leans back, making Bucky swallow what lost that threatens to rip out of his throat when Steve looks at him through lowered lashes, nose bumping into his. “Bucky.”

It’s almost a question, and it makes Bucky squirm when he’s under this intent attention again, different from Steve’s earlier look. But he doesn’t look away when his heart is thumping against his chest. “I need—“

He stops, almost doesn’t say, but Steve’s look has already turn thoughtful, eyes searching his face that Bucky holds his breath. Steve tucks his hair behind his ear. “Need what?”

Bucky swallows silently, the familiarity of their game a gleeful thing his body responds to. He tries to kiss him again but Steve presses a thumb onto his mouth to stop him. He leans forward though, warm breath washing over Bucky’s lips when his own hovers behind his finger, eyes glowing like the reminiscents of lightning flashing in the sky. “Need what, Buck?”

The rain shower hits half of his body, leaving the other side of him cold from where they both stand. And Bucky’s sure the shiver that travels through his back and down his arm aren’t from that.

“I need you,” Bucky says quietly, reverence heavy and sure.

That’s all it takes, because Steve swoops down to capture his mouth again and Bucky doesn’t hide the relieved groan when he kisses him back.

He doesn’t know who opens his mouth first but Bucky pulls Steve closer than what’s strictly possible when they’re already plastered tight, skin sliding against skin. Steve moves him away from the water until Bucky shudders from the cool air biting into his skin, but Steve kisses him long and hard and it’s easy to forget about it when Bucky’s chasing to do the same.

Steve drags his kisses to the corner of his jaw, down his neck, and Bucky holds onto his arm with gritted teeth because this is what he remembers. This is what keeps him from sleeping, how he wakes up with hollowness yawning in the middle of his body that it physically hurts him more than he asks for.

Bucky holds him close, makes sure to have his grip on him and doesn’t let go. 

“Please,” he chokes out, and he’s ducking down to meet those lips again and kisses Steve with his heart on his sleeve because that’s what comes down to it, isn't it? Once Bucky let’s go, there’s no turning back. “Steve, please. I need you. I need you so much.“

“Bucky,” Steve hums against his mouth, arms wrapped tightly around him as he turns around and leans against the tiled wall to soak most of the chill, Bucky held in the warm cocoon of his touch. “You gotta tell me.”

“I shouldn’t have to need to,” Bucky growls, almost whines out really, clawing onto his shoulder for attention even when Steve already has all of him on Bucky — body and soul, they would say, and they’re right. God, they’re _ right_.

But it’s not _ enough_.

“You know what I want,” he says, bringing his hand down Steve’s side that he lets out a shuddering breath. “We’ve done this. We’ve done this, goddammit, you can’t tell me you don’t know, Steve. I know— I _ know _ about you and how we—“

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Steve tells him quietly.

Of course he does. Of _course _he does.

“You won’t,” Bucky assures him, nuzzling at the side of his face. “Steve, you won’t. I’m okay. With you, I’m always okay. You have to believe me.”

“God, Buck, I trust you with my life,” Steve breathes out shakily, rubbing his thumbs against his hip bones. “But you’re hurt, I need to make sure you’re okay—“

“_Steve_,” Bucky tries again, almost laughs out hysterically as he tries to make Steve _ see _ for one goddamn moment that Bucky’s alright, and he’s going to make sure he _ stays _ alright for now. “Steve— for the love of god— you’re not going to hurt me, alright? I know you won’t do that, I just really, _ really _ need you to fuck me right now.”

His voice might’ve turn harsher than he intended at the end of his sentence and Steve might’ve froze at that and his words, but Bucky may perhaps doesn’t care because he’s here. Steve’s _ finally _ here and he doesn’t want to let go of him again.

Bucky tries to prove his point by pulling him down and kisses him long and hard and this time, Steve doesn’t try to evade this as he accepts all of Bucky by answering just the same, his fingers wounding up to his hair that Bucky sucks in a sharp breath at the press of them against his scalp.

Steve tries to move them away quickly, but Bucky bites his bottom lip to stop him, pressing them against the wall. “Don’t,” he croaks out because Steve needs to hear it. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Please, I just need—“

And Steve steals all of his pleas with a slant of his mouth against Bucky’s that has him whimpering at the impact, large hands wandering down the slope of his back that Bucky curves into Steve’s touches like a flower to the sun. Those hands trace the crease of his ass before grabbing them full, squeezing them until Bucky whines into his mouth.

It’s hardly anything but the press of his hard cock against Steve’s makes it impossible for Bucky to not feel overwhelmed, grinding himself against him without shame that has the man turn his kisses into something more biting, breaths heavy against his mouth.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, parting his cheeks that has giddiness thumping against his chest. Bucky grits his teeth when one finger traces down and in between his ass, dipping it into his greedy hole with one slide that has both of them groaning. “_Fuck_.”

“You gotta do something,” Bucky almost chokes out with how adrenaline burns high in his throat, lining their cocks up together to rub against him as Steve curses faintly into his ear, finger moving out before plunging in again. “You gotta— you gotta fuck me, Stevie, need you in me. I _ can’t_—“

Bucky gasps when he’s suddenly swivelled around, back digging into the tiles again when Steve reaches down to carry him up, Bucky scrambling to catch his shoulder. He breathes hard, the useless way his legs are hanging behind his back makes his cock twitch between them.

Steve stares at him for a moment, chest heaving, and he pries his cheeks open again and guides himself into Bucky’s entrance that it doesn’t stop the cry from wrenching out of his mouth.

There’s hardly any preparation for this but they’ve done it before. They’ve done whatever they wanted to do with broiling desperation occupying their minds and it makes everything fall into place with one hard drop. Bucky wraps his legs around his waist, pulling Steve in tight when he pulls out and thrusts into him again with a relieved shudder.

“Yes, yes, fucking _ yes_,” Bucky gasps when Steve bounces him on his dick, knees pushed hard to his chest that Bucky’s scratching nails across his shoulders to hold on, and _ take _ , and have Steve with him. “I miss you so fucking much, Stevie, I miss you, _ fuck—“ _

“You’re the end of me,” Steve presses hard into him that Bucky keens out, panting into the side of his face. “You’re gonna be the cause of my own death, Bucky Barnes, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“I thought about you,” Bucky blabbers on, feels every inch of Steve to his bones. “Thought about you when my memories came back, ‘bout how you’d able to fuck me even when we’re surrounded by our friends. But how you’d always kiss me so sweet and I never thought it’d actually be real, that _ you’re _ real. And I _ needed _ you,” Bucky confesses with his whole chest, his whole damn soul. “I needed you so fucking much it hurts me.”

Steve groans low and desperate. “_Bucky_.”

Bucky feels his head tugs back for Steve to sink his teeth into the tendons of his muscles before his drags his opened mouth under his jaw and sucks the skin there red — Bucky takes it all. He wants this embedded deep into his brain and makes sure it stays there. He wants _ Steve_, and he wants him until death would take him again.

Steve bites his way down his chest, and Bucky doesn’t stop any noise that comes out of him at this point when Steve’s hefted him higher without an ounce of strain on his part. He lowers his mouth to latch onto a nipple, sucks hard enough for Bucky to clutch those wet and darken strands of blond hair with a wail.

He’s more sensitive now, he knows this when he finds himself answering to what dreams his head likes to show him before Steve finds him again, and he knows it makes it hard for him to last longer than he used to. Especially now, when they’re going onto each other like a couple of animals in the middle of heat.

Steve plays with him, swirling his tongue over and around the nub that Bucky feels electric shocks shooting down to his abdomen. Pressure strings high there that he starts to rut against Steve more, cock sensitive as Bucky pants high into the ceiling.

“Steve, Steve, _ Steve_,” Bucky wails when Steve shoves his cock into him while his mouth migrates to the other nipple, nudging against his sweet spot that Bucky’s threatening to black out. “Fuck— _ sweetheart,_ I’m so close, so close, _ fuck—“_

Steve bites down hard and Bucky cries out again, before he’s muffled by Steve swallowing all his distress with his mouth kissing him right and wretched, taking everything Bucky’s willingly giving him and god, isn’t that a drug itself? Doesn’t it make your toes tingle whenever someone just accepts what you’re giving them without question?

It goes on, and tears may flow down his cheeks but the shower washes it away before Bucky could. Steve gives another thrust, one deep and so, so good that Bucky sobs out his relief when he comes hard between them, pulsing white onto his chest and neck that Steve doesn’t waste time to lick it off his skin.

Steve tries to chase his own pleasure as Bucky buries his face into his neck, listless and absolutely liquid as he lets himself be used as Steve’s reliever as each drag of his cock against his walls has the man kissing every inch of skin his mouth can reach on Bucky, assurances whispered for his ears alone. Bucky feels, and listens to how Steve grunts out before warmth fills him him up.

It’s times like this Bucky knows he must have done something forgivable because he gets Steve and this and they’re both alive for it. Almost a hundred years of living on this goddamn world and they’re alive for second chances. It’s a miracle on its own and Bucky’s going to pray on his knees for forgiveness after everything he’s done to rain suffering onto others.

He lets out a soft huff, willing the thought away when he inhales the warmth and smell of Steve from his drenched skin.

Right now though, Steve’s as boneless as he is when he slumps against Bucky with his legs wrapped loosely around his waist, trapping him against the wall. Steve has his face in his neck, catching his breath, and Bucky lazily turns to the side to graze his lips against his temple.

Steve lets out a small noise before he catches his lips again, kissing him with everything they’ve made from down to up.

Bucky takes it, he takes it all. He knows he’s useless when it comes to Steve and he’s never, ever regret it once in his life.

This, he finds, is why he says the next of his words without any pain in his being.

“I love you.”


	5. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky looks at him — really, really looks at him. He thinks about how he never would’ve thought the universe would show him this kind of wonder first, to deliver him this good thing before coming for him and his waiting penance.
> 
> When that happens, he’ll be ready. He has no other way but to be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thank you for staying with this fic even if kinktober ended more than a week ago, whoops. But, I hope you get to enjoy this one too!
> 
> 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟔 — 𝐎𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥  
𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟖 — 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

“A cat.”

Bucky shrugs, rubbing its head with his fingers as it snuggles itself warm under Bucky’s chin. The kitten stinks of garbage, he’s pretty sure its fur used to be white more than mangy splotches of grey, and its purring up a storm as its wet nose pressed against his skin. “This fella here followed me.”

Steve brushes a hand over his beard, leaving a streak of charcoal across his cheek as he leans into the couch. “Or it followed our dinner.”

“Pretty sure it followed me,” Bucky says, leaving the paperbag of fried rice and chicken on the dining table as he crosses the space to make his way to Steve. “Had to scoop ‘em up from the bottom of the bin. It was gonna rain soon, and I didn’t want it to drown.”

He drops beside him with a small grunt. Steve wrinkles his nose, picking off a crumble of some old bread away from Bucky’s hair. “Y’sure the cat didn’t follow you because of the chicken and not some mold you pick up with ‘em?”

Bucky lets his fingers sail over his bare nape, brushing off anything that might get caught. “Nah, pretty sure it's me. Grateful I saved its scrawny ass, most likely, unlike some people I know.”

Steve rolls his eyes, hand running down the short cut of Bucky’s hair that he thinks Steve hasn’t actually gotten over how Bucky decides to drop into his old haircut. Steve might’ve stopped breathing the first time Bucky comes out of the bathroom with his head lighter than it did for years, but if they’re going to stay low and away from the people eager for a bounty above their names, they need to change some things.

Bucky lets his stubble grow into a full beard. Steve copies his facial look and keeps his hair longer, bangs keep falling into his forehead that Bucky’s tempted to get him a hairclip.

Bucky flicks at a stray strand of blond hair, and all the ruckus wakes up the kitten when it blinks its eyes open into slits, regarding its surroundings. The moment it realises it's nowhere near the familiar alley it has been taking residence in, the kitten lets out a mewl that’s almost pitiful, trying to scramble out of Bucky’s jacket.

Steve watches on with a smile pulled at one corner of his lips when Bucky softly curses, trying to get off the prickles of needles that climbs haphazardly up his chest. The kitten lets out another _ meow _ when its claw snags itself on his shirt, and Bucky has to carefully unlatch it off him when it tries to wiggle it off frantically. “Are you _ sure _it’s not the chicken?” Steve asks innocently.

“Pretty sure,” Bucky winces when the kitten claws its way to his shoulder, his hand cupped lightly over the curve of its bony spine. “He’s... trying to make me as his damn tree.”

The kitten yowls into his ear, causing Bucky to lean away with a huff.

“Is it a he?” Steve asks, picking up the kitten’s tail to have a look. It snatched it back and swats him in the nose instead. He scrunches his nose, wiping the fur away with his knuckles. ”She’s a she.”

“She needs a shower,” Bucky has to lean forward slightly when the kitten begin its track across his shoulders, away from them both as it drops itself onto the space beside Bucky before plopping to the floor. “A scrub. Maybe let her soak in the sink to let the garbage water stank die off.”

The kitten tilts its head towards their way and lets out another yowl. Steve snorts out in disbelief. “Feed her, maybe.”

Bucky reaches for the kitten with his fingers that she turns away from him, tail held high when her body is small enough to walk underneath their coffee table without ducking her head. He sighs, slumping back. “Maybe.”

Steve chuckles, leaning forward to leave a peck on his cheek. He grimaces lightly. “You need a shower.”

“_I _need a scrub,” Bucky agreed, unwinding the scarf away from his neck and dumps it on the arm rest. “And I need my rice. And my chicken.”

At that, the kitten pops its head back up, big yellow eyes staring curiously at him before she lets out a curious _ mraw? _ Bucky looks back at her in hopeless defeat while Steve guffaws out his amusement. “I saved your ass,” Bucky begins forlornly, and the kitten answers him with what he thinks is a scoff, the tip of her tail giving out an impatient twitch. “I brought you to my home, and this is how you repay me?”

“She’s just hungry,” Steve reaches for his charcoal pencil again. “She’ll forgive you later.”

“Tough love,” Bucky comments, looks over where Steve’s drawing is coming out nicely on his sketchbook even if it’s not finished. The woman turned towards the window looks like Sarah Rogers, with her hair tied up in a looser version of her nurse’s bun, her hands holding onto the opened book she’s left on her lap while her dress flutters around her with soft elegance. There’s something wistful in the shine of her eyes, as if she’s waiting for someone’s arrival. “She’s beautiful, Steve.”

“Thank you,” Steve says softly, looking at the drawing a little longer before he shades the pleats of her dress. “I might make a frame for this and hang it up somewhere instead of selling it off. Something to lighten up the place.”

“She’ll love it,” Bucky tells him, because why not? They’ve been staying at this apartment for four months, and no one’s picked them both up as the criminals they have both been branded with. If they remain as careful as they’ve been, they’ll get to stay a little longer.

If they have to leave, the backpack Bucky’s sealed behind their bed sits prettily for its purpose. He just needs to reach up and punch through the wall to get it.

He pushes himself up off the couch, taking a step forward when his balance tilts a bit that immediately catches Steve’s attention, worry flashing briefly in his eyes. Bucky waves it away, tries not to wrap his hand over the empty socket of his left side as he walks towards their bedroom. “I’m taking a shower and we’ll eat.”

“What about your new buddy here?” Steve calls out, jerking his head towards the coffee table.

Bucky turns back around, kneeling beside the table to see the kitten curled at the other side, out of Steve’s reach as she judges him openly. Bucky clicks his tongue, and the kitten seems more disgruntled to even be called such way. “Hey there. How about a bath, huh?”

The kitten simply closes her eyes, ignoring him completely. Bucky sighs. “C’mon,” he tries again, voice tight as he lowers his left to the ground with a grunt, hand reaching out for her. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

“I don’t think you know the concept of cats.” Steve proposes lightly, gaze heavy on Bucky’s back when he thinks he’s subtle in his fussing.

“I’ve seen cats who sat under a running tap as it drank from the damn thing,” Bucky huffs out as his fingertips almost brushed against her fur, but the kitten only leans away from his touch and against the wood. “They _ can _ like water. And this one needs a bath.”

“Where did you even know ‘bout that?”

“YouTube.”

There’s a contemplative hum. “The chicken might help lure her out.”

Bucky pulls himself up, trying not to breathe too heavily as he gives Steve a long look. “You wanna get her, then? Or you just wanna sit there and keep yappin’ ‘bout how YouTube is suddenly incompetent for old bastards like us?”

Steve lets his mouth quirk sideways and up, putting away his sketchbook and charcoal before he gets up. “I’ll pinch some of the chicken. But we can’t make it a habit,” he adds as he goes through the bag to take out one of the containers. “Or she’s gonna start climbing on tables.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky lets out distractedly, stretching further for the kitten.

There’s a loud _ crack _ of the opening container, and the smell of fried chicken sweeps through the whole apartment that the kitten perks up, clambering to her feet before she zips past Bucky and out of the table, whacking his cheek with her tail in the process.

Steve laughs at him as Bucky groans out, using the table to push himself out of his crouch and to his knees, hair disarray. He sees the kitten rubs itself around Steve’s ankles enthusiastically, chirping at him while her meal is being shredded into small pieces. “Well,” Steve almost sing-songs, using the cover of the container as the kitten’s temporary bowl. “You were saying?”

“Shut up,” Bucky chuckles out breathlessly, pushing himself up with a heave. “I’m gonna _ shower_.”

“You do that,” Steve agrees cheerily as he puts the cover on the floor, the kitten scrambling to catch up before she begins to inhale it happily. The moment he straightens himself up, Bucky steps forward and hooks his hand onto his nape and gives him a big kiss. “Aw, _ Buck._”

Bucky snickers against Steve’s exaggerated scrunched up nose even if he does nothing to lean away. “Uh-huh?”

Steve grabs onto his face and kisses him long and hard and Bucky might as well be lightheaded from it all, but he’s far from complaining. He’s never gonna complain, really. This is his life now, he’s more than happy to roll around this molasses of warmth that seeps indolently into his body, taking it him all, consuming him full. This is— this is just _ it_.

He blinks the hearts away from his eyes when Steve leans back to look at him properly, his fingers pressing into his cheeks as he gazes at Bucky with unbridled joy that it almost makes him squirm again. He still hasn’t gotten used to this; he still doesn’t know how to take these waves of affection Steve’s content on giving him even if the feeling of it all is a balm on his soul.

It looks as if Steve knows what’s he’s thinking, because his thumb brushes up the length of his jaw and moves against the whiskers of his beard. “Hey, there.”

Bucky looks at him — really, really looks at him. He thinks about how he never would’ve thought the universe would show him this kind of wonder first, to deliver him this good thing before coming for him and his waiting penance.

When that happens, he’ll be ready. He has no other way but to be ready.

“Hey, there yourself,” Bucky answers softly. “Got any crazy gadget to make this shower fast? Because the smell of food is getting to me.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Did you even eat lunch?”

“Had a chicken teriyaki flavoured onigiri. And a vanilla pudding,” Bucky adds when Steve expectantly waits for more. Bucky almost rolls his eyes, but indulges him instead. “We were busy in the kitchen. Tasty diner place, people coming in, full-house. You know the drill.”

“You could’ve eaten more, y’know?” Steve says nonchalantly, seemingly refusing to let go of him now as he snakes his arms around his waist and pulls him nearer. Then, an idea lights up in his eyes. “Hey, maybe I should pack lunches for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky begins, but Steve pouts at him; honest to god, jutting bottom lip and pitiful drawn eyebrows. Bucky snorts lightly, his turn to run a hand over Steve’s beard as if they’re cavemen grooming each other. “It’s okay, Steve, really. I can get my own lunch.”

“But what if I wanna?” Steve wheedles out. “Anyway, it’ll lighten the load if I did your lunch for you, seeing as you’re a busy man feeding other people and a lil’ help won’t hurt.”

“It’s just flipping burgers and cooking some eggs, Stevie—“

“It’s still hard work,” Steve reminds him solemnly, and yeah, sometimes Bucky uses five minutes of his break to sit on a stool and catch his breath but he’s not pointing that out. “It’ll make your job a whole lot easier.”

Bucky lets his fingers tap against Steve’s cheek considerably. “Two times a week, Tuesday and Friday.”

“Make it Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and we have a deal.”

Bucky hums, thoughtful. “I’m making dinner on those days.”

Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously. “That’s not what we’re supposed to agree on.”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs, and Steve doesn’t look any more impressed. “But, I can’t have you do all the work.”

“The reason we’re even making this arrangement is because we’re trying to make sure you’re not exerting yourself. I’m working at the local library, Bucky, rearranging books and sometimes draw to sell. I wanna help.”

There’s no backing away from this, not when Steve looks so sincere and earnest that it tugs on Bucky’s heartstrings like a lute. “I get to make dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Bucky—“

Bucky pats his chest. “I’m gonna shower now.”

“_Bucky_.” Steve sighs, dropping his arms when Bucky slips into their bedroom.

Bucky arches his eyebrows at him, hand holding onto the edge of the door. “Both days, Rogers. That’s it.”

He lets it swing closed just when Steve opens his mouth.

There’s a muffled mewl behind it. “It’s no use,” Steve replies back at her, causing Bucky to press back a smile. “I’m a lost cause.”

* * *

It’s like this.

Every other night, Bucky sits on the stool they’ve bought from the five dollar store by the living room window. It’s the only other window they have besides the one in the bedroom and the one above their kitchen sink. The stool’s short enough for him to drape his arm over the windowsill while half his body faces the front door, and he cracks the window open so that the chilly air hits his chest and the street light glows over his notebook. 

He’ll spoil his eyes like this, but muck still swirls in his gut at the thought of someone seeing his silhouette from wherever they are, never mind that both he and Steve installed some black-out curtains.

The streets are empty and calling out to him different than they have been when people sell fruits and deep fried bread, or when he walks past them as opposed to how he still sees them even if it’s close to midnight. There aren’t any people shouting to buy their things; there aren’t any people buying them and exchanging bags with money.

He can still smell those doughnuts and thinks of buying some when he gets back from work tomorrow.

The notebook he has in his hand is only half-filled even though they’ve been living in this apartment for months. But, Bucky knows they’ve been too busy — too busy hiding, too busy trying to look normal, too busy looking over their shoulders before they lift boxes that could’ve gotten two people to do it.

He still writes when he can, taping down some candy wrappers when he isn’t too tired to just collapse on their bed and sleep through the night before they start all over again the next morning. Sometimes Steve brings him a daisy or a lost bookmark from the library to add to the pile. Bucky finds that the secret words in his fortune cookies are his favourite whenever they ordered takeaways from the nearby Chinese restaurant, and it doesn’t hurt that the place is only a few blocks away.

It pushes out leaking pipes and iron out of his mouth when he crunches on the cookie, Steve sitting opposite him as he scarves down on his noodles and wonton soup. Bucky loves the spicy fried rice there, and consumes it clean to make up for all those years of bland potatoes and unseasoned meat compartmentalised neatly on steel tray.

He’s taken advantage of eating properly again. Steve’s more than happy to introduce him to all the food he’s tried over the years, adding mutton curry and naan bread into their diet; the warm burritos are excellent during the night too, just them huddling with other people as they wait for their orders and the need to turn in for the night.

Bucky’s come to appreciate this; it would be a shame if they ever had to leave but he doesn’t waste his days by worrying about it constantly. The idea is to follow the current and make himself reach for a stray branch when they’ve about to hit rock bottom. He’s used to this kind of things after all, everything’s planned to the lint that their lives depend on being prepared.

They make sure their working days don’t cross over the other so that they’d have time to themselves, enjoying each other’s company whenever they can, free of smelling like greasy food or coated with old library dust. Sometimes, they’d lounge in the apartment with books in hand or even stitching up some loose holes on the seams of their clothes.

Steve comes home one day with a bag of wooden needles and two balls of yarn and gives them to Bucky — one black and the other a dark blue. Steve must’ve seen the way his fingers twitch too much to actually write, how Bucky’s mind follows the kid with the bicycle down the road until others take in his tracks and leaves Bucky staring out of the window for a long time. 

It makes Bucky busy when he’s too restless, and he gifts Steve a knitted blue hat when his ears are starting to redden every time he steps outside. Bucky makes a scarf for himself and loves how incredibly at _ home _he feels when he holds Steve’s hand in the lapels of his jacket — simply walking, simply existing.

Bucky takes a breath, writes down a list of things they need to buy for their fridge and some winter clothes. He adds another two rolls of yarn and jots _ red _ and _ grey _beside it. 

There’s a brush of fur against his feet and Bucky looks down to where Alpine rubs her head against his sweats. She chirps at him so softly, rolling around until her undercarriage faces up and she’s purring up a storm.

“Hey, sweetie,” Bucky murmurs, reaching down to brush his thumb up her forehead before sliding it over her eyes, cranking her purring up a notch that it makes him smile. “The couch too lonely for you?

She doesn’t answer, content with his scratches. She also doesn’t complain when he scoops her up and settles her on his chest, where he slumps a bit against the window to make himself comfortable while she curls herself up in his arm, notebook and pen forgotten on his lap.

Alpine’s been with them for a month, slotting into their lives seamlessly that Bucky looks forward to lay on the ground with her sometimes. She’d sprawl in the space between the couch and the coffee table, and he’ll squeeze himself tight beside her to feel her pressed against his shoulder, fingers sailing through her fluffy white fur. Steve would find them both like that and quickly captures the image on his sketchbook.

She’s a darling, really, doesn’t mind the tricks he teaches her to follow him when he pats his thigh, or how he’d click his tongue and she’d leap onto his shoulder and perches there like a queen on her throne.

Steve swears Alpine glares down at him whenever he tries to kiss Bucky, but he laughs about it, adds how they have this agreement to pass Bucky between them. 

It makes Bucky scoff as he pecks Steve’s cheek while giving Alpine scratches behind her ear, but there’s no stopping the warmth that spreads throughout his chest.

“Do you want a collar?” He asks quietly. Now, she’s asleep in his hold, breathing in content. “Without the bells, just a band would be okay. It’d be safer for you.”

She flexes her paws before letting out a _ mrrp _that has Bucky smiling again. “I’ll get you one later.”

When he goes to sleep that night, Alpine is curled near his feet while Steve has his arm around his waist as he breathes him in.

* * *

The exhilaration never stops.

When Bucky walks out of the bedroom to see Steve sitting on the couch with his back bowed over his work, donned in his brown thick sweater that brings out more of his golden hair, Bucky finds he doesn’t have the breath to circulate the air in his lungs.

Sometimes strands of his hair escape and fall onto his forehead, lashes long and fluttering against his cheek, far too focused on inking the picture under his hands; his movements are smooth, pens and markers switched to match what he’s spread in his mind. The outline of the library is familiar to Bucky now, and Steve uses the set of colours to draw out their small home, an occasional Alpine lounging lazily near the window.

Bucky’s one of his favourite subjects to put on paper, and he doesn’t mind; it just reminds him of the time when the calluses on his fingertips are fresh from the pier and their ratty couch back then peels at the corners. Steve would curl at his feet, and like then, his head is so near to the paper his nose almost presses into it.

But, Bucky has to appreciate the way Steve’s able to relive some old photos by tracing them back to their glory. Old couples or people holding onto a relative’s picture would give him to draw, and they’d pay him enough as gratitude shines bright in their eyes.

Bucky has seen how they marvel the work Steve’s done and has never felt so proud of him than he does then.

It’s waiting for Steve to put down his last marker, shoulders deflating with a soft sigh once he’s finished the piece. Bucky takes that moment to pad his way towards him and lowers himself on the other side of the couch. Steve doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him and pulls him close, burying his face into his neck.

They sit there, just breathing, taking everything in, the faint sound of traffic barely visible past the window glass, an occasional car honk or even the tinkle of ice cream bells filtering through. Pipes hum behind the wallpaper walls, yellowed with age, and Bucky knows the woman with her two large pitbulls has her music on at the ground floor, Whitney Houston muffled by wood.

Steve’s warm in his hold, a grounding heat under his chest when Bucky settles comfortably across his lap, large hands rubbing firm strokes on the skin above the band of his jeans. Bucky brushes back strands of hair behind his ear even if they fall away; feels how those familiar lips linger near his chin. 

Then, those same hands drag themselves up the length of his back, and Bucky doesn’t stop the faint hitch of his breath when every digit impales electricity into his skin, hooking into his bones deep and sure. Steve presses his lips firmer onto the corner of his mouth, the first wave of interest rolling awake under his touches that has Bucky holding onto his shoulder a little tighter, a little eager.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs when hands slides to his stomach, caving underneath his tentativeness.

Steve doesn’t reply, touches Bucky as if he’s mapping out what he knows under his fingertips, as if he’s retracing his steps to what he thinks he’s lost, trying to remember everything back.

He never lost Bucky. It’s already put to stone on how his essence has sipped far into his system that there’s no turning back.

Steve turns his head and captures his lips with a mission in mind, because he kisses Bucky as if woken up from a lull he’s forced himself into and pours all of this, all of _ him_, into the gesture alone. Bucky accepts this with heaving grace and kisses him back — not wanting to let go, not daring to let go.

He shudders, the full divinity of what settles onto the slope of his shoulders weighs heavy and true, the prospect of this existence a blaring thing that rings shrilly into his ears.

_ We’re here. We’re here. We’re here. _

Bucky presses into the kiss a little harder, slips his tongue into his mouth when Steve clutches onto the back of his thighs and brings him even closer, chests plastered together tight.

Bucky nips his lip, flames in his abdomen, and lets out a yelp when he finds himself pushed to the couch with a swift turn that has him blinking up. Steve looks down at him with something fierce in his eyes, eliciting a shudder down his spine.

Those blues darken with interest, has Steve lowering his face down until Bucky can feel clouds of warm breath against his skin that makes him almost tense in excitement and anticipation; it’s the feeling of prey pinned under teeth, and it makes the hair on his nape stand up.

That is until Steve presses his mouth hot under his jaw and has his beard dragging up the length of his neck until Bucky is keening from his touch. “_Steve_.”

Steve sucks a bruise on the junction between his neck and shoulder as his fingers busy themselves with Bucky’s sweater, tugging it off easily when Bucky curves his back to assist. 

“You’re so pretty,” Steve mumbles against his skin, touching his chest and down his stomach that Bucky soaks all the attention up like a dry sponge. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

“You’re makin’ me blush,” Bucky exhales when Steve peppers more kisses across his collarbone, making his way down until he takes a nipple into his mouth and has Bucky letting out a moan. “Oh, god.”

His holds onto his hair, tries to press his hips against Steve’s but gets pushed down with his weight, and it leaves Bucky writhing and breathing a little heavily when Steve lavishes on the nub until it’s wet and perking against the chill.

“Steve, c’mon,” Bucky pleads when Steve doesn’t stop there and moves to the other nipple, making sure to kiss around it before his drags a broad tongue over it with all remorseless of someone wanting to break him apart. Bucky buckles against the sensation, swallowing a whine down his throat when Steve only pushes a hand against his hip to make him stop moving so much. “_Fuck—_“

“Gettin’ there,” Steve hums, before he’s biting down and has Bucky gurgling out another curse.

“Jackass,” Bucky wheezes out, tries to move again but Steve’s not having it, spreading his hand wide against his abdomen. “_Stevie_.”

Steve only rises up again to kiss him hard and Bucky’s adamant to tell him that he _ wants _this, he’s been wanting since all those years ago and he has never stopped. He feels Steve unbuttoning his jeans and almost cries out in relief when he circles his fingers around the base of his cock.

But, it’s merely a flitting touch that has Bucky protesting deep in his throat when Steve only pulls down the rest of his pants, causing Bucky to kick it off impatiently. 

“In a hurry, sweetheart?” Steve teases against his mouth, and it’s not fair, not at all. Because Steve’s still fully clothed, all fluffy sweaters and firm touches while Bucky’s naked as a newborn babe and that’s not doing him any favours when every brush of cloth against skin lights him right up.

“Well, if you’re actually doing _ something_,” Bucky replies airily, tugging on his hair up so that their faces are hovering over each other. “But you’re not.”

Steve chuckles, licks his lips when his hands trail over his thighs and loosely hook themselves under his knees. Bucky stares at him, heart thundering in his ears. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not like I’m doing anything, just talking to my best guy and all.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky rolls his hips against his crotch, and the tented rough cloth of his pants dragging against his hard cock has Steve closing his eyes. It makes Bucky laugh breathlessly. “Just, y’know, talking with you. On the couch. Nothing much.”

“Mm-hm. Mm-hm.” When Steve squeezes his thighs and pulls Bucky flush against him, it has him tilting his head back with a moan. “Though, I _ was _ thinking of doing something.”

“Better think fast and get it done now,” Bucky runs his fingers over Steve’s rucked up hair and palms his cheek instead, looking intently into his eyes. “Sooner.”

“Testy,” Steve smirks, and Bucky gasps out loud when he’s suddenly fold into half, knees pushed to his stomach as he scrambles onto Steve’s shoulder for purchase.

Steve doesn’t give him time to think when he ducks down and bites into the meat of his inner thigh, unforgiving and harsh that has Bucky jerking against him with a moan. He drags his advances lower until Bucky can feel his breath wafting over his entrance, and it makes him shake as Steve nibbles onto his flesh around him, beard tickling his skin.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes out.

When the first prod of his tongue touches him, Bucky lets out a groan.

Steve is restless when he eats him out, dragging the smooth muscle of his tongue around him before he fucks into Bucky with that alone. It makes him squirm again, wanting more, but Steve just tugs him nearer and slurps him up as if he’s a fucking seven course meal and Bucky can’t help the whine that escapes from his mouth.

“_Fuck_,” Bucky croaks out when Steve blindly reaches for the fallen cushions and stuffs them under his hip. His legs are in the air, he feels how exposed he is when he’s pried open like this, and the new position gives Steve a leverage to enjoy him more when Bucky’s barely holding on.

Steve hums, the feeling travels to his leaking cock and causing precum to drip onto his abdomen. Bucky crosses his ankles around his neck to pull him close, causing Steve to groan loudly.

“Bucky, Christ,” Steve swears, biting into the swell of his ass. He looks up, lips red, and peers at Bucky through his cock that has him helplessly stare at him back. “You trynna smother me?”

“It’s not like you don’t enjoy it.” Bucky snipes.

Steve chuckles. “True.”

He plunges his tongue into him again, one finger joining in that has Bucky gasping loud as Steve fucks him slow. He takes his time with him, savouring him, and Bucky wants _ more_.

Steve adds another finger, continues to slide them along with his tongue and Bucky’s beginning to feel frantic, pushing his hips into Steve and feels how he tightens his hold onto his thigh with his other hand. 

Steve crooks his fingers at this, and Bucky almost chokes on his own saliva when Steve smooths them out again and pushes them deep until they brush against his prostate.

“Steve, come on,” he pants, and almost cries out when Steve only does it again.

And again.

He’s playing Bucky up and down and he wants nothing more than just come right then, right now. His skin is tight, fire burning a roaring bonfire in his chest, but there’s nothing he can do when he’s at Steve’s mercy.

That is, until Steve scissors him open and shoves his tongue more into him, licking into his walls that has Bucky crying out and almost gets his release when Steve, however, reaches out and squeezes the head of his cock, making Bucky arch his back.

“_Steve_,” Bucky whines, feeling trapped, lava coursing through his veins when he can’t do anything but rut against nothing, not when Steve is holding him hostage. “What the _ fuck. _”

“Not yet,” Steve hums, and to Bucky’s dismay, backs off so that he’s sitting on his heels, looking down at him with a grin as if he hasn’t been making Bucky lose his mind. “It’s getting late, we gotta make dinner first.”

Bucky gapes at him, chest heaving. “What?”

Steve pats his thigh as if he’s fresh meat, letting go of his cock before he slides back and swings his feet off the couch. “I was thinking pasta. Seafood marinara. How does that sound?”

And then he makes his way towards the kitchen, leaving Bucky staring after him with his dick out, legs sprawled, his clothes a mess on the floor. Then, the sound of running water hits the bottom of the sink. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“I’ll make garlic bread!” Hollers out Steve, and it’s obvious he’s enjoying this immensely when there’s the pull of the fridge door opening next.

“Steve.”

Bucky is still hard, and he’s left abandoned in their living room after Steve eats him out as if he’s just thrown some sheets off the mattress and leaves it haphazardly around the room. As if it’s nothing.

“_Steve_.”

“Yeah?”

“What the _ fuck_.”

“What?” Steve answers, having the audacity to sound so joyful from where Bucky can’t see him.

Bucky sighs when pots begin to clang against the stove.

He’s still charged up, still has prickling little feet marching down his spine even if it’s subdued from shock. He might as well finish what they’ve started since Steve is more intent on letting him suffer alone. Bucky loves him, but the fact Steve is pulling a stunt like this is just low.

Bucky wraps a hand around himself, readjusting his position when the spit on his entrance has all but dried up as he lets his hand move up his length, closing his eyes.

He lets his thumb press against the thick vein of his cock and slides it up until a small groan escapes his lips. The spark festering low in the deep of his waist lights up again, and he tries to get back to the rhythm stolen rudely from him.

He snaps his eyes open when a hand clamps around his wrist, and Steve looms down on him from where he’s bend half-way. Darkened eyes rake down the length of his body, slowly taking him in, and it always makes Bucky lose some breath whenever he realises how absurdly big Steve is when he’s standing over him like this. “What are you doing?”

Bucky tilts his head challengingly. “What do you think?”

“Not helping me cook,” Steve presses a thumb into his wrist, leaning forward. “Y’know, like we’re supposed to.”

“No, that’s just you making your own decisions,” Bucky moves his hand while maintaining his heavy gaze. “When we haven’t even _ finished_.”

“I was saving for later,” Steve curls his hand over Bucky’s, going on for the ride; it’s pumping his dick along with him that has Bucky bite the inner part of his bottom lip. “Did you really think I was gonna abandon you like this, Buck?”

“After all of that? Yeah,” Bucky moans lightly when Steve twists his wrist, nose grazing lightly over his temple as he drops to his knees beside him. “I guess I did.”

“I’d never do that,” Steve soothes him, and then he’s capturing his lips into a hard kiss that has Bucky swallowing his whimper, hips lifting with need. “I’d never leave you, Bucky. You gotta know this.”

It’s starting to feel like something else, the air a static thing on his skin that Bucky raises his head and pours all of his soul into the kiss; Steve only takes what he offers, what he knows Bucky needs to assure himself, and gives it all back with the same kind of devotion.

Climbing on top of him, Steve reaches between the couch cushions to take out the small bottle of lube they’ve stuffed in them. It would’ve been funny, because they’re both grown men with no sense of perseverance when it comes to each other and yet here they are, hiding lube in their furniture because they can’t be bothered with a cabinet drawer for the living room.

Bucky opens his legs to accommodate the way Steve settles between them; he keeps his attention solely on Bucky now, keeps kissing him stupid when he hears the cap being opened before two slicked fingers slides into his entrance with ease.

“I don’t need it,” Bucky gasps, but Steve doesn’t listen, intent on occupying his mouth and everything else. Another finger joins the rest, stuffing him full, and Bucky doesn’t stop the moan falling from his lips. “_Steve_.”

“I got you, sweetheart,” Steve breathes, pulling his fingers away that Bucky keens from the gaping lost. Steve kisses him again, quickly unbuttoning his pants and shoving it off. “I got you.”

He’s gentle when he pushes the blunt head of his cock against his hole, but after all the teasing, Bucky doesn’t have the patience for proper care when he‘s been needing Steve’s cock in him for a goddamn while. “Come _ on.”_

When Steve pushes in, Bucky wraps his arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, lets Steve fuck him against the couch with his mouth dragging down his neck before they settle behind his ear, suckling the skin there. Steve is still fully clothed, the material of his pants rubbing against the back of his thighs has Bucky arching into him more, small breaths punched out of him with every thrust.

“Baby,” Bucky pleads, turning his head and catching his lips into a sloppy kiss when his body feels like it’s on the verge of bursting, pressure strung high and hot in his abdomen that he’s not going to last long. “Baby, please—“

“I have you, I have you,” Steve blabbers, and Bucky cries out when his hand fists his dick. “Honey, I got you—“

Bucky shudders, coming hard and fast that Steve groans into jaw when he clenches around him, hips stuttering at the release. Steve doesn’t stop his pace, continues to pound into him as Bucky mouths relentlessly against jaw and touches where his buzzed up head wants him to touch, fingers clawing onto his back before they tangle around the back of Steve’s sweater.

The blissed haze of post orgasm starts to crackle and suddenly it’s too much, almost blistering. His come is drying on his front, the insistent rubbing of the rough material of Steve’s pants against the back of his thighs would surely chaff. 

It’s obvious Steve’s close, pace getting erratic as he rails into Bucky’s sweet spot with accuracy that has him gasping wetly.

“Steve, Stevie,” and he’s overwhelmed, burying his fingers into golden hair and tugs Steve up to face him, nose pressing into his cheek. “Come in me, need you to come in me.”

“Buck,” Steve groans, rolling his hips. “Fuck, Bucky.”

Bucky moans, dragging his fingers under his sweater to touch him, wanting to feel the planes of his chest to distract the fire burning inside him. “Steve, c’mon, please. Fuck, Steve—“

Steve gives one last hard thrust before he gasps into his neck, and Bucky claws against his shoulder blades with a small noise, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes when warmth bursts inside him as Steve comes. 

They try to catch their breath, filling the air with each inhale, and Steve presses a soft kiss on the side of his head.

“Bucky,” Steve starts. “You okay?”

Bucky lets out an incomparable mumble, blissed out and entirely fucked out, and Steve only chuckles faintly before he presses another longer kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “God, I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Bucky sighs out, turning to the kiss properly, and it’s as if he’s floating on clouds from how relaxed he is, feels it rest deep into the very centre of his being.

Bucky moans softly when Steve pulls out, and reaches out to pull him for another kiss that has Steve laughing into his mouth, giving him a playful bite before he pushes himself off him with one arm to cover himself up with another. He arches his eyebrows. “Think we can eat now?”

“I thought you just did,” Bucky says, deliberately letting his arm stretch up lazily above his head, smirking when Steve narrows his eyes.

“I could do second rounds,” Steve hums, letting his fingers tap against his hip.

Bucky laughs, surges up and kisses him again and again.

_ This is it_, he thinks, having what love they’ve lost cradled in the warm cup of their palms.

_ This is it. _


End file.
